


With Every Beat of My Heart

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cuddling and Snuggling, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Logan is a Grieving Widow, Logan's Dog is a Matchmaker, M/M, Mourning, Remy is a Transplant Recipient, Rogue is a Good Bro, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horrible accident plunges Logan into despair. His wife's final gift brings someone new into his life. Can he bring himself to love again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am reposting this from adultfanfiction.org with the rest of my Lomy stories. There will be no large changes between the original post and the draft here aside from fixed typos. I am Originalceenote there, too.
> 
> This story is incomplete. I may update it on this site as time and interest allow.

Author’s Note: I’ll always dedicate my LoMy fics to Sisterwine, since she got me hooked on reading hers. Happy New Year to Rendezvous on Yahoo, as well. I don’t know how often I will update this story, but it’s been talking to me.

 

12:01AM  
Westchester County General Hospital, E/R

“White female, late twenties,” barked the paramedic at the foot of the stretcher. The wheels thudded over the ramp as it was wheeled onto the loading dock. “Blunt trauma to the head. Fractured collarbone, upper spinal fractures. Victim had poor response at the site of the accident. Pressure eighty over forty.”

“Hang in there, ma’am,” encouraged the young nurse as she ran alongside the stretcher with a clipboard.

The room’s warmth was welcome, but the noises surrounding her were oppressive. Jean winced at the small penlight shining in her eyes. Her fingers and the tip of her nose were icy cold, and her skin felt raw wherever it was scraped. Blood seeped back into her thick red hair, plastering it to her scalp.

Logan…oh, God, he’ll be so worried…gotta…have someone call him…

“Logan,” she murmured before she blacked out.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, how’re you doing?”

“That doesn’t look good.”

“Get a crash cart ready!”

“She give you a name on the way over?”

“Jean Grey.”

“Date of birth?”

“June first.”

“Year?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good enough for now. Start a chart, look her up in the system.”

A half hour later, the trauma team was paged to the emergency ward, somber and ready to work. The area housekeeper hung back silently, wisely steering her cart out of the entryway. She watched the traffic of staff hurrying in and out of the curtained room with dismay; there would be blood to clean and a lot of linen to clear away. More than anything, however, she felt pity, preemptively, for the next of kin. She stood like a sentinel, waiting for direction from the nurse’s station. It was going to be a long night.

The room filled up with equipment. Jean awoke to find herself in a web of tubing, leads and wires. The IV burned in her arm and she felt the cool flow of oxygen into her tortured lungs.

“We’re doing what we can to make you comfortable, okay? Can you squeeze my hand?” Her grip was feeble and took more energy than what she had.

“We’ve got your chart here, Jean,” the nurse beckoned. “Who would you like me to call? I have a…” she squinted at the information and flipped the page on her clipboard. “…a James Howlett here? Is he still at this number?” She recited it to Jean. She nodded.

“Logan,” she rasped.

“Call Logan instead?”

“No. James…is Logan.”

“Oh, he answers to Logan? All right, we can do that. Let me get him on the phone.” She hurried away. A tear trickled from the corner of Jean’s eye. Her doctor loomed nearby, drifting into her line of vision.

“Good evening. I know this is the last place you want to be, but you’re in a hospital right now. I’m Dr. Leonard Samson.” His grip on her hand was warm and gentle. Jean began to hear a low buzzing in her ears, making it difficult to make out his words.

“Get Logan,” she told him. That was her only focus. “I don’t care. Get me Logan.”

Worried faces swam over her. She began to not feel their hands moving her, probing her and cleaning her wounds.

She prayed he would come on time.

 

*

He sat in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. The tiny TV anchored beneath the cabinet was their third anniversary purchase for each other. He’d skipped the evening news and decided on Letterman instead.

Hell was about to be dropped on his doorstep.

She hadn’t called him. Logan brooded over this while David grilled some nameless It Girl on his couch about a movie he’d never go see. Jean always called, and she always picked up. Her cell rolled to voice mail five times since she said she’d left.

She wasn’t out on a bender. Not his Jeannie. Irritation followed him to bed. Worry urged him out of the covers two hours later. He skipped the beer he’d been in the mood for, not sure why he chose coffee instead. Part of him wondered if Jean, too, would like a cup when she got back in. It was a cold night, blistering rain slapping the windows.

When the phone rang, he jumped. His stomach dipped and pulse raced as he tripped to the phone.

“Jeannie? Hello?”

“Is this James Howlett?” A voice in the background corrected the speaker. There was noise in the background that didn’t sound like a club or restaurant. It gave Logan an uneasy chill. “Is this Logan?”

“Yes,” he barked hoarsely.

“Hi. This is Sharon from the emergency room of Westchester County General.”

Logan broke out in a cold sweat. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.

“Sir,” she hesitated, “I know this is a bit of a shock right now, but could you come down here? We’re calling on behalf of your wife, Jean.” His breathing was so ragged it hurt. 

His knees wouldn’t hold him. He dropped back into his kitchen chair.

“I’m…I’m coming. Right now. Just…can you tell her that?” 

“She’s resting now. We’ll let her know. And Logan? Just to let you know, she was very anxious to get you here, so she’ll appreciate it once I let her know I spoke with you.”

“Please,” he insisted, “help her. Make her better. I need you to make her better.”

“I know-“

“God,” he rasped. “Please…just…I’ll be there.” He rang off and chucked the phone onto the counter. He didn’t care when it slid off onto the floor. His keys jingled in his hand before he even had his jacket all the way on.

Daisy lifted her head and thumped her tail on the floor. “I’m leavin’, girl. There’s somethin’ wrong with Mommy, okay?” He scratched behind her ears and gave her a kiss between them, roughly patting her rump. “I have to go see about her. We’ll both be home soon, all right?” The golden lab whined in the back of her throat like she didn’t believe him. 

As he drove through the rain, he didn’t, either.

*

 

The cannula chafed him as Remy adjusted it. The soup tasted bland, despite the fact that the restaurant called it gumbo. It was a sacrilege, and an offense to his palate.

He enjoyed the sound of the rain. It was a creature comfort, when he had so few.

He didn’t know how many rainy nights he had left.

Mattie snapped on the light, ruining his reverie.

“Up late.”

“Oui.”

“Look tired, cher.”

“Don’ feel like headin’ t’bed.” He didn’t share that he was afraid he wouldn’t wake up. She didn’t need it, not after she’d burdened herself so much for him.

She said nothing. She turned on the television and turned off the lights once more, keeping him company. Remy ignored the evening news for a while and just watched the rain come down.

He diverted his attention from the window when she switched the channel to the news.

“Area authorities reported a three-car pileup that left two drivers wounded and one in critical condition. The accident happened some time before midnight. More details at four.”

Remy closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer.

“This is a bad night for driving.”

“Sure is, Tante. Sure is.”

 

*

 

She never heard him. Her hand was wrapped in his tight grip. All he could do was hold onto her.

Machines blipped and beeped in a symphony, reassuring him that she was still with him, not as tangible as the softness of her hair as he stroked it.

The nurse and the patient advocate was talking at him as much as to him, waving paperwork that he couldn’t think about.

“Have you ever recorded an advance directive?” He shook his head.

“I don’t know. It’s never come up between us.” Never thought it would have to.

“What do you think she would want?”

“Whaddya think?” he muttered. “She’d want you to save her life.” Her eyes were calm.

“Think about it a minute. We have a few other staff members you might want to speak with soon, sir.”

“Fine.” As long as he didn’t have to leave her side, he didn’t care.

“Jeannie,” he whispered. He kissed her hand, gentle, frequent presses of his lips over her knuckles. He ran his thumb over the rough edges of her solitaire.

She held on. Each hour found his hope straining that she didn’t wake up or show any improvement. Each hour could be his last with her.

He prayed. He begged. He confessed.

“I forgot to buy milk today. I didn’t take Daisy for her shots yet, I know. Ya told me. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take care of everything, okay? Okay, Jeannie?”

Her chest barely rose and fell.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t go, sweetheart. Don’t go.”

The heart monitor’s alarm went off, throwing the tiny trauma room into chaos. His shouts were helpless as he was pulled back by the large, male charge nurse.

“Sir, come outside.”

“No.”

“We need to use the crash cart.”

“I don’t wanna leave her, I-“

“We need room! I’m sorry!”

He moved back toward the door, hand outstretched toward the bed.

“JEANNIE!”

 

*

Remy woke up from a light doze, surprised that it had overcome him. Mattie snored unabated beside him. The television droned informercials that told him it was easily 5AM.

He felt an odd chill of unease.

The rain had stopped, but it wasn’t daybreak yet. The sky was still an inky black, his least favorite time of the day. Remy hated waiting for the light to break through. It always felt like it would never come.

But he waited.

Even with his favorite tante sharing the space, he felt lonely.

He went to the window. The night had an odd…taste, if he had to describe it. He thought back to the news.

One driver, in critical condition.

That was it, he mused. That was the taste.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men begin to recover from different wounds.

**Six months later:**

Remy’s hamstrings burned, but it was a good burn.

He listened to the cadence of his footsteps as they slapped the pavement, synching easily to the beat of his tiny MP3. The afternoon was perfect, past the sun’s peak hours with a light breeze at his back.

He almost didn’t want to go home. Mattie waiting for him, though, and he still needed to pick up a cake.

In the back of his mind, Remy still listened to that niggling voice that he didn’t deserve to feel this good.

Sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades and pecs. His handsome, young face was ruddy and glowing from his exertions, and he looked every inch the picture of health. No one seeing him striding through the park, limbs fluid and strong, would believe he was clinging to life the winter before.

Remy glowed, in every way.

He left the park and headed down Main Street, eager to complete his errand while he was still in the mood. The bakery wasn’t crowded, since he was already past the morning rush of commuters buying donuts and rolls to go with their coffee. He slowed to a panting stop outside the door, pacing slightly to cool down.

Passerby admired him; women shot him longing glances as they took in his broad shoulders, narrow waist and high, round glutes. Remy’s thick, wavy auburn hair was windblown, damp and clinging to his nape. He leaned his backside against the ledge of the window while he caught his breath.

The labored, long breaths of air tasted good. The scents emanating from inside smelled even better. The bell over the door jangled as he strode inside.

“How can I help you?”

“Need a birthday cake.”

“What kind?”

“Whatever ya’ve got, petit.” The counter girl’s name tag introduced her as Jubilation. She was tiny and slender, not looking a day over twelve, even though her voice put her closer to seventeen. She cracked her gum.

“What do you like? Vanilla, chocolate, lemon…?” Her voice was expectant. “Want a sample?”

“Now yer speakin’ my language, petit,” he agreed, flashing a dimpled smile. Inwardly, she swooned. Jubilation headed to a glass case and withdrew four different squares of cake and some tiny plastic forks.

“My favorite’s the rum custard, but everyone’s different. Italian rum cake. It has slivered almonds…you’re not allergic to nuts?” She continued to run off a list of goodies that exhausted him with too many choices. He nodded as he listened, glad she wasn’t letting him get a word in edgewise, so he could simply taste each selection without worrying about talking with his mouth full.

“The lemon cream,” he announced easily, licking a fleck of the icing from his upper lip.

“You said it’s a birthday cake. We talking big party, after dinner? Do we need a name on it?”

“Mattie.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looked slightly crestfallen at the sound of the female name. Remy wanted to chuckle but suppressed it.

“My tante loves ‘lemon’ anyt’in. She’ll love this.” She looked puzzled. “My auntie. She helped raise me.”

“Ohhh, oh, oh,” she nodded, suddenly hopeful. Remy merely smiled as she wrote up the ticket and the spelling of the name. “Want something pretty on the top?”

“Pink roses?”

“Of course.” 

She bustled off to fill his order. Remy spent those remaining minutes browsing the mouthwatering pastries in the cases and enjoying the smells. He tasted the sample of chocolate truffle cake, decadent and rich, and decided it was his favorite.

The shop was cute, slightly feminine in its décor. The walls featured black and white framed photos of the store’s owner from about three decades prior. Old-fashioned Tiffany lamps hovered over the door and in the windows, lending the interior a warmth Remy could appreciate.

Ever since his procedure, he appreciated beauty in its different forms.

The greatest gift he’d received six months ago was time. 

Shortly he arrived home with the pink cardboard square box. He heard the television blaring from the foyer as he keyed his way inside. He could hear Mattie’s soap operas as he headed toward the kitchen.

“Tante!” he called out. He set down the box and tossed his keys onto the table. “Mattie!”

It was odd. She was usually in the living room; he didn’t see her as he cruised past it to head upstairs. Remy grimaced at the feel of the air conditioning against his sweat-dampened skin and couldn’t wait to get out of his funky clothes.

“Mattie!” he called again. He wondered where in the house she was that she’d turned up her show to be able to still hear it. Remy trotted upstairs to his room. He shucked his rank tank top and tossed it in the overflowing wicker hamper; Mattie would accuse him soon enough of laying down with the hogs, since he was living in a pigsty.

He hopped into the shower briefly, taking only the minute it lasted to rub on and rinse off some soap and soak his hair. This time, the cool air of his room felt good against his damp skin, at least he felt fresh. He changed into a black tank top and khakis, wanting to be presentable for his foster aunt’s birthday dinner.

The television was still blaring, telling him she hadn’t returned to the living room.

Remy had a nagging sense of unease; it crept over the nape of his neck as he descended the stairs.

“I called ya when I came in, Tante,” he told her briskly as he made his way back to the kitchen. She still wasn’t there. 

She wasn’t in the living room. She wasn’t in the laundry room. Her sewing room was empty. That quickened his steps.

“Mattie.”

He tingled. A strange sixth sense told him she might not be in the house.

The television was distracting. He turned off General Hospital and walked out into the yard.

His blood ran cold at the sight of her limp form in the grass. He nearly stumbled off the deck as he ran to her.

“MATTIE!”

*

 

The paramedics were familiar to Remy. He recognized some of them before from his own trips to the ER. He listened to their usual battery of questions stoically as he held his aunt’s hand.

Do you know where you are? Can you tell me your full name, ma’am? What year is this? When were you born? How long ago did you start not feeling well?

The hospital still smelled antiseptic and stale to Remy, despite a citrus air freshener coming from the rest rooms. 

Mattie’s fingers felt cold and wizened in his grip. Despite her sable complexion, her face was wan.

“M’sorry,” she mumbled feebly. He squeezed her hand and stroked her short, soft hair. Its kinky texture was comforting to touch. She leaned into the caress, grateful that he was there for her. They’d come full circle. It was Remy’s turn to take care of her.

“Don’ worry about it, Tante,” he soothed. “Scared me a little.”

“Ya look shook up, mon fils,” she pointed out.

“I’ll live,” he muttered.

“M’not…leavin’ quite yet.”

“Mattie!”

“G’wan, now. What? I’m not gonna talk about the inevitable wit’ my nephew? Won’t ever happen cuz Tante won’t say it out loud?” Remy’s mouth was dry, but his eyes filled. “Non, petit, don’ look like dat.”

“Just don’ like thinkin’ ‘bout not havin’ my favorite person runnin’ my ranch, is all. Ain’t no one’s comp’ny I like more, Tante. Ya’ve spoiled me. How can I settle fer less?”

She chuckled weakly. “Den don’t. Find someone who’s comp’ny strikes ya just as well, if not more. Yer a young man, grown and needin’ t’settle down, Remy.”

Her physician came by and spoke to them in careful terms, announcing that Mattie suffered a very mild stroke. They decided to hold her overnight. Remy spent the next hour filling out a battery of paperwork and answering questions until he was hoarse. Numbly he thought back to the birthday cake he’d left behind. He wondered if he could bring back a slice of it once she got settled in.

“Dis ain’t de way I wanted ta celebrate yer birthday, Tante.”

“Ain’t what I planned, neither, sweetie.”

“Maybe we’ll get it right next year.” He hoped that wish would come true. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

 

*

Logan keyed his way into his empty house, rifling through his evening mail. There were the usual bills, credit card offers, coupons and fundraiser requests, and one beige envelope from the hospital. He hoped it wasn’t another bill.

He was drained. He couldn’t look at the familiar stationery without thinking about that night, or the day he put Jeannie in the ground. 

Familiar objects and scents in the house still mocked him. Daisy looked up at him and thumped her tail at his arrival. She was three, well out of her puppyhood, and he looked forward to taking her for a walk. Anything to get out of the house and its memories.

He scooped out a serving of dog chow from a can and watched his best girl wolf it down. Logan fetched himself a beer and sat down to enjoy it while his frozen dinner rotated in the microwave. He found himself turning on the news and tugging off his hard leather work shoes, relieved to be in stocking feet. 

His dinner consisted of a flavorless Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes with watery-tasting string beans. He finished it with little enthusiasm, admitting to himself that one day, he would do himself a favor and take a cooking class.

Once Logan had the chance to unwind properly, he sat down at his desk and reviewed his mail in more detail.

He set the bills neatly in one stack and ripped open all of the other miscellaneous envelopes, skimming their contents before throwing them into his shredder bin. The last one from the hospital gave him pause. He took a breath and opened it. 

It surprised him; it didn’t have a detachable stub, so it wasn’t a bill.

The newsletter he unfolded was almost festive, printed with a photo collage of happy people of varying demographics.

“What do all of these people have in common? They were given the gift of life via organ donor transplant.” He grew pensive and sad as he read the rest.

It was an invitation. Black tie. A thank-you banquet coordinated by the hospital and the state organ transplant board was happening on July 1st. 

Following the speeches by the hospital administrators and the surgeons they were honoring at the event, there was going to be a thank-you ceremony to the families whose loved ones provided the organs necessary to save lives. Several recipients were also attending the dinner.

Closure. Logan knew he’d never have it. He slumped back in his chair and smoothed the letter flat on his blotter, musing.

It was too much. It would hurt too much, meeting the person who received her gift, too stark a reminder that she was really gone. 

He still had conversations with her, sometimes. He still craved her warmth on the other side of the bed. Many of her personal items were still in his medicine cabinet and in the kitchen.

Jeannie had been in excellent health. She’d lived clean, hardly ever touched alcohol if it wasn’t a holiday. Never smoked. Hated fried food. Her only weaknesses were late night chick flicks when she couldn’t sleep or a good chocolate chip cookie with her morning (nonfat) latte. Her injuries were devastating, but her organs were perfect. The advocate who approached him at the hospital couldn’t realize that it was no comfort to him.

He’d made his decision with a grave flick of his hand.

“Take them. If…if I can’t have her…” His voice was choked. He was drained and ruined. His tears had been hot and thick and useless. Endless.

Daisy felt his pain. She never left his side, always occupying the other side of the couch or laying across his feet. Logan was undone at the sight of the dog’s bed populated with some of Jean’s belongings, particularly her knit bedroom slippers.

The dog read his mind again, trotting over and nosing her way into his lap. She bumped his hand until he scratched her behind the ears.

He re-read the letter. His eyes lingered on the faces of the recipients in the photos.

Before he could change his mind, Logan filled out the RSVP card.

 

Three weeks later:

“How’s she doing?”

“Full of sass.”

“So she’s feelin’ better, then,” Anna chuckled.

“Bit by bit.”

“Hug her for me.”

“Hug her yerself, woman.”

“Ah wanted ta stop by, shoog…”

“Then stop by.”

“Ah know.” Anna Marie looked guilty. “It’s been so busy.”

“Still, she’d be tickled t’see ya, petit.”

“Might be able ta swing by Saturday.”

“I won’t tell her til ya call an’ confirm it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He stirred his strawberry smoothie with a long red straw and took three hungry gulps. “I’m still on my toes. Can’t help askin’ how she is every five minutes. She’s gettin’ sick of Remy.”

“She’s probably enjoyin’ the attention, shoog.”

“She didn’t lose too much, we got here there in plenty of time, thank God,” he told her. “Only thing is her moods. She’s so outta sorts sometimes. Grumpy an’ full of vinegar.”

“That’s just sweet Mattie gettin’ old, Rem.”

“Don’ like thinkin’ ‘bout that if I don’ hafta, Anna.”

“Ah know, sweet. Neither do Ah.” She squeezed his hand. “Ya look good.”

“Likewise.”

“Ya’ve got a glow. Looks good on ya.”

“Everything feels bigger an’ brighter. Remy’s luckier than he deserves, non?”

“Ya deserve the best life has ta offer ya, sugah.”

“Yer biased.”

“Ah know.”  
Remy checked his watch. “Shit. Gotta beat feet, baby. Gotta get ta the pharmacy and pick up her pills. Then I’m makin’ dinner so we can have it while her movie comes on tonight.”

“Which one?”

“Cabin in the Sky.”

“All right. Be good, shoog.”

 

His lunch date with Anna was a rare thing; Mattie insisted she wasn’t in the mood to go out, begging off to stay home and watch her stories. She was still just so out of sorts…

Remy was worried. Mattie had a lot of weakness in her hands and little patience for small, detailed tasks like doing up buttons and opening jars. She was moving more slowly and eating less, despite his creativity in the kitchen and occasional reliance on her own recipes.

He found her on the back deck when he got home. She had on her reading glasses and a comfortable pair of pink plaid pajama pants and slippers. She looked frail and precious to him. Mattie smiled and nodded for him to sit beside her.

“Here.” 

“What is it?”

“Open it up!”

“Hope it ain’t a bill.”

“Doesn’t have a little window on the envelope,” she pointed out sagely. Mattie sipped her glass of sweet tea.

She watched his face as he read it. Mix emotions flitted across his features and he leaned back in his seat.

“Ain’t bad, is it, mon fils?”

“Non. It ain’t. It ain’t, Tante.”

“G’wan, then!”

“It’s a dinner. I can bring a guest.” He handed it to her. Her expression became thoughtful as she read it.

“Isn’t that nice. And it’s fancy. Gonna need a suit.”

“Gonna need a fancy dress yerself,” he pointed out. “Wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t come wit’ me, Tante.”

“Silly,” she said dismissively.

“Non. S’true.” He swallowed around a lump. “Yer the other person in my life who helped save it.”

“Why d’ya doubt that I’d do anything else?” 

“I’d like ya ta come.”

“Be there with bells on, sweet pea.”


	3. After Dinner Cocktails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner, and introductions.

Logan finished ironing his white dress shirt, glad he’d used starch to make the pleats more crisp. His coffee-brown pants were pressed just as sharply, and he supposed he’d look decent enough, but he was loath to get dressed. 

The night was nice enough; the day’s blistering heat gave way to a seventy-degree night with a mild breeze. Logan dutifully picked out a camel brown, raw silk tie that had been Jean’s favorite. This night somehow belonged to her.

Daisy whined at him as she padded inside. He stooped to exchange goodnight kisses, spoiling her with love and caring very little about dog hair on his good slacks.

“Go to bed,” he urged, snapping his fingers for her to climb into her own plaid flannel one in the corner. She obeyed but watched him expectantly. He knew she would be up on his bed as soon as she heard the door slam.

He drove with the windows down, enjoying the scents of barbecue and summer roses on his way to the Hilton. Anticipation mingled with dread.

Closure.

That’s why he was here, that, and to find some purpose in Jean’s sacrifice. Logan needed to know that her death meant something, and in a sense, to give the one who received her gift a chance to celebrate her life. He didn’t want to cry anymore, even though Logan admitted there would be some days where it couldn’t be helped. But not tonight.

Was it a young woman? Logan wondered. Or perhaps older, still in good physical condition? What kind of life was she leading, with her new lease on life? A career woman? A student? A mother? A nun?

He parked his Camry toward the back, deciding he would have an easier time leaving early if he wasn’t up to staying. A valet at a podium outside the entrance nodded to him.

“Need any help, sir?”

“Nope. Already covered, kid.” 

“Have a good evening, sir.” He held open the door.

“Here.” Logan tipped him anyway, pressing a folded fiver into his palm. The boy beamed.

“Thank you. Appreciate it, sir.”

“Stay honest.”

The lobby was crowded, but Logan saw the marquee over the desk: Donor Association Dinner, in the Blue Room, First Floor. From there, Logan followed the arrows, feeling slightly underdressed.

Once inside, he waited in a short line at the guests’ sign-in table. Everyone passing him smiled warmly, and his nerves settled even more once he spied the bar set up in the back.

“Name, sir?”

“Howlett. James.”

“Here’s your nametag.” The young woman scrawled his first name on a red “My Name Is” sticker. He stopped her.

“Mind makin’ me another one? I go by Logan.”

“Not a problem!” she chirped, crumpling and chucking the first. He almost objected to the second one, on which she included a smiley face.

Great.

“Enjoy your dinner!”

A straight whiskey would put a better face on the night, he decided; this wasn’t the beer and peanuts crowd. Most of the people there looked around his own age, mid-thirties to late fifties. He saw two or three families with children in tow, and he wondered if they had received transplants. A cute little girl with strawberry blonde hair darted by, chasing her sister with abandon and not caring who they bumped in the process. She reminded Logan so much of Jean that he ached.

The dinner was buffet-style, nothing too exciting. Logan opted for the prime rib, cut into stingy little strips. He was grateful that they hadn’t drowned the asparagus in that gloppy lemon sauce he despised. He found a table with several empty spaces and seated himself across from a nice-looking young couple.

“Evening. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’m Carol.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Logan,” he offered, gesturing to his name sticker.

“Who would’ve guessed?” Carol grinned. Logan sighed inwardly. At least they were nice…

They were the proud parents of the two little girls. Logan periodically glanced at the one who’d caught his eye. He felt her eyes on him throughout the dinner, and whenever he looked up, she looked away. Stinker. After about the tenth time, he caught her giggling behind her hand.

“Gayle, that’s not polite. Let him eat in peace.”

“Can’t blame her. Folks think I’m kinda funny-lookin’, anyway.” He grinned at Gayle; she grinned back.

Once everyone had their after-dinner cocktails and desserts, their host introduced himself. He was a bald man in a sharp black suit, seated in an expensive-looking wheelchair. His blue eyes were filled with good humor. He came to the podium and a woman approached him with a clip-on microphone, fastening it to his lapel.

“I’m glad to see so many faces here tonight. My name’s Charles Xavier. I’m the director of Salem General’s transplant and donor program. It’s my pleasure not only to welcome the families, friends and recipients of transplants we’ve performed this year, but also to those whose loved ones provided those gifts. We’re truly honored to have you all here.” The assembly broke out into applause.

“As part of the night’s festivities, we have a few guest speakers, a presentation of gifts, and a meet-and-greet with music provided by the hotel’s deejay. I’d like to introduce two of our surgeons, Dr. Leonard Samson and Dr. Erik Lensherr, both specialists in the field of organ transplant and esteemed members of our staff. We’re proud to have them in the Salem General family.”

The speeches were boring but well-meant. Logan ruminated over his Jack Daniels and snuck little Gayle one of his cookies from the dessert bar. Her little sister was wriggling and squirming, two minutes from having a tantrum until her father wisely took her outside.

Charles returned to the podium. His mic whined slightly until he gave it a sharp tap. “I’d like to take this time to introduce some of our donor families whom we have here tonight, and from the bottom of my heart I’d like to say, thank you.” The audience erupted into applause. Logan’s face flushed and he felt a pricking sensation behind his eyes, but he, too, clapped.

“I have up here some gifts. I would like to proceed by introducing each recipient and giving them a few moments to share how their transplants enriched or saved their lives. Then, I’ll allow each of them to meet the donor family responsible for it, without which they wouldn’t be here today. The recipient or family member will present the gift to the donor family.”

The next hour was torture.

Every recipient’s testimonials broke his heart. When Carol and Steve approached the podium, Logan’s suspicions were confirmed: Gayle Rogers received new kidneys.

Carol was tearful and her speech was full of gratitude. “My little girl is in first grade now, she’s in Brownie Scouts and she loves soccer. We always prayed she would make it this far. We cherish every moment we have, and we will never forget this gift you’ve given us. We’d like to welcome you as a part of our family for all that you’ve done for our daughter.” Carol humbly stepped down and took a small bouquet of daffodils and gold-embossed envelope from the table. A young couple at the front of the conference room stood and met her halfway; the mother was equally tearful but smiling as she accepted the gift and hugged her tightly.

The Rogers returned to their table where Carol’s sister was dutifully watching the children. Charles cleared his throat and resumed his introductions.

“That was beautiful. Thank you for sharing that with us tonight. I’d like to bring up one more of our honored guests tonight. I’m pleased to have you here, Mr. Remy LeBeau.” 

Logan glanced briefly at his program. He ran down the list of recipient families printed inside. Mattie and Remy LeBeau. He assumed Charles would have read Mattie’s name.

The audience clapped for a tall young man who walked smoothly down the aisle.

His smile was broad and sincere. He was easily the most striking man in the room, over six feet tall and athletically built. He had a hint of healthy tan and reddish glints in his dark brown hair.

He shook Charles’ hand and stood at the podium.

“If you don’t mind, Logan, I’d like it if you could come down here. I believe Remy’s anxious and pleased to meet you.” The young man nodded, but Logan saw the look in his eyes…

The joy and gratitude he saw there was mingled with sorrow. 

Logan didn’t know if he could deal with it.

Closure.

Reluctantly, he rose. Little Gayle piped up, “Did you give that man a present like I got?”

“Yeah, sweetie. You could say I did. And so did my wife. She was a lot like you.” Carol watched him in wonder. Logan had said precious little about the circumstances that brought him there that night.

Logan took the seat beside Charles, put on the spot and hating it.

Remy’s eyes ate him up. He leaned into the microphone and spoke almost lyrically, in an accent Logan couldn’t place.

“I never thought I’d have one more day, let alone the rest of my lifetime, mon ami. My doctor gave me six months to live wi’dout a new heart. There were so many damned days where I wanted t’give up, but when I got de call that they found a donor and that I was next on de list, I thanked God and I prayed to him to bless and keep the family of whomever made it possible fer me t’live. I’m back t’work. I run 10K’s and I’m competin’ in a triathlon in two months. I’d like it if ya could be ‘dere.” The audience clapped, but Remy wasn’t through.

“Dis is my aunt Mattie. She’s been wit’ me through dis, de surgery and she’s taken care of me and prayed for me when I was about t’give up hope. She never let me give up hope.” He blew a kiss to an older Black woman about three tables back.

Logan was still overwhelmed. 

Jean’s heart went to a man. Logan was meeting him face to face. He shook his hand firmly; he fought to keep his own from shaking as he reached for him.

Then Remy pulled him forward and embraced him in the firm, back-clapping hug men recognized everywhere as good form. But it meant more to Logan than that, in ways he couldn’t describe.

Jean’s heart beat in this young man’s breast. In a sense, a part of her had been brought back to Logan. His heart was still broken.

Yet suddenly, he didn’t feel so alone in this world.


	4. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a small world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I apologize if I hit stops and starts with this story, I have several others that are in progress, thanks to my usual problem with tapestry syndrome. Thanks for reading.

“Good morning, sir. Can I interest you in a sample of our white chocolate biscotti?”

“Thanks,” Logan said, taking one of the hard little pieces of biscuit from the glass plate. It crunched loudly in his teeth, confirming that he didn’t need to buy a whole piece. At least it had macadamia nuts.

“What can I get you?”

“Double latte, skim.”

“Any flavorings or cream?”

“Nah. Thanks.”

“Your name?”

“Logan.”

“That’ll just be a minute.” His barista was a perky college student with a sleek chignon and long bangs, pierced nose and a crown of thorns tattooed around her upper arm. She smiled at him and scribbled his name and order on a Venti cup.

The café was filled with jazz music and a miasma of various tea leaves and coffee beans, all battling for dominance of his nose. Logan selected a newspaper and flipped to the finance section while he waited. The weather was still warm, but in the morning, usually before nine, it felt like fall.

Minutes later, his musings were interrupted by the sound of his name. Logan folded the paper and set it aside, retrieved his coffee, and pocketed two sugars on his way out.

The outside seating at the café was beginning to fill up. Logan noticed more college students and several retirees populating the tables. He gave pause at the sound of a familiar voice drifting to him over the noises from the street. Slowly Logan turned and scanned the people, feeling a frisson of anticipation.

There. A rich, cheerful baritone with a southern twang. He saw him from the back, chatting on a tiny mobile phone. His thick chestnut brown hair glinted in the morning sun, stirred slightly by a gentle breeze. He threw back his head and laughed, something that he seemed to do easily. Maybe frequently.

Logan’s feet followed his voice before he even thought of anything to say. He wove his way through the tables, heedless of the fact that his coffee break was nearly over.

By some act of providence, his chatter stopped on a note of confusion. He lowered his phone and stared at it. “’Allo? You dere? Shit!” he hissed. “See if Remy renews his contract, den, droppin’ his calls…” he grumbled. Logan’s lips twitched as he lingered behind him. He watched the young man page through his contacts list and decided to reach out before he attempted the call again. Logan drifted alongside him, just over his shoulder. He noticed what looked like a closed sketch pad lying on the table in front of him. Logan cleared his throat.

“Uh…hi.” The young man whipped around at the sound of his voice. His expression was quizzical, brow raised.

“Bonjour,” he drawled. “Um…does Remy know you?”

“Not in so many words, bub,” Logan explained, hoping he didn’t sound foolish. He still looked confused. “We, uh, met. At the dinner thing. The one at the hospital…well, the hotel, the hospital held it…” Various emotions flitted over his handsome face, but it finally dawned on him. His grin was slow and wide, and Remy stood up, clapping his phone shut and cramming it into his pocket.

“It’s so good ta see ya. ‘Course Remy remembers de dinner.” He took Logan’s hand as he offered it, but didn’t stop there. Logan found himself engulfed in another brisk, strong hug. If he thought it was awkward sharing a gesture like that in public, he said nothing. He chuckled under his breath at his exuberance. He returned it with a firm clap on his back and carefully freed himself. “James?” he asked.

“Logan. I go by my middle name.”

“Whateva floats yer boat, mon ami. Call me Remy,” he offered. He pulled out one of the chairs at his table. “Siddown fo’ a few.”

“Can’t. Gotta get back ta work, but I just wanted ta, um, say hi, ya know?” 

And for a brief moment, Logan didn’t know what he wanted.

Remy was radiant with health and good cheer, and he was very, very attractive. His personality held a certain charm and charisma that not many people possessed, something that drew people to him easily, to talk, to confide or to celebrate.

Logan was full of questions. Questions that kept him up at night, ever since he received the invitation to the dinner in the mail.

What kind of life did Jean’s heart save? What was this man like whose chest it was beating inside of now? It niggled and pricked him. 

“Dat’s a shame,” Remy sighed, brow furrowing with genuine regret. “I know…I know dis is awkward, mec, an’ I hope ya don’ get too mad at Remy fo’ sayin’ as much, but ever since my surgery…I just want…I wanna know more about you. More about where it came from.”

Logan grew pale. Remy realized he said too much.

“M’sorry…I know dat sounded like shit-“

“I gotta go. Enjoy yer coffee, and yer day.” 

All Logan knew was that he had to get away. He left Remy staring openmouthed after him. Kicking himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. An unsettling hint of guilt crept over him as he watched the stocky, compact man take long strides down the street, punching the walk light at the corner.

Logan’s pulse was erratic and pounding in his temple for the next eight blocks.

More about where it came from.

It should have made him happy, shouldn’t it? He said what Logan wanted to, voiced his own wishes back at him. Hadn’t he wanted to know more, too, about how he’d fared since…

It was too soon. It was still so raw, hurt so much. Logan mastered the urge to drop everything and shut down.

He still couldn’t talk about Jeannie, not in any depth. All it did was hammer home what he lost. Telling him “more about where it came from” meant sharing the pieces of his heart that Logan hadn’t yet picked up, whether it was telling the young man about Jean’s obsession with old movies or how her scrapbooks ran them out of the house. Logan still talked to Jeannie, sometimes. He still saw her in his mind’s eye whenever he heard her favorite songs or smelled the summer roses. He hadn’t pruned the American Beauties that were growing wild in the side flower bed for weeks; they were going to become a tangled bramble if he didn’t touch them soon. They were Jean’s babies, her pride and joy.

Betsy looked up from the ledger at the front desk as he stomped inside. His hard shoes thumped across the polished wood planks. She gave him a quizzical look. “That was fast.”

“Hnh.”

“Hnh?” she repeated, furrowing her brow. “What’d you bring me?” 

“My smilin’ face.”

“And it just looks so sunshiny bright,” she agreed, even though her own smile dropped. She sat back in her chair as she watched him divest himself of his light jacket and plunk the cup on a nearby table. He went through the motions of work, checking orders and the accounts receivable log, putting away books of sample swatches, anything to keep his hands busy. “Busy bee.”

“Makes the day go by faster.”

“You haven’t been here that long.” The store opened at eight-thirty, Monday through Saturday.

“You the time clock police?” She bit back a tart rejoinder and let it go, chewing on the end of her pencil.

“Shipment’s coming in at eleven.”

“Excitement,” he whooped, with little enthusiasm. Betsy sighed.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’. Why’d anything hafta happen?”

“You were fine before you left. Then you come back and, you’re…this. Whatever this is.”

“Whaddya think ‘this’ is, darlin’?”

“PMS?”

“Geez. What is it with you broads and-“ His words were cut off by the phone. Betsy picked up and trilled, “Salem Furniture Studio?” Logan walked off, mimicking her under his breath. Betsy flipped him the bird.

Logan took his place out on the floor as customers trickled in. He was in the middle of offering a middle-aged couple two different color options of a leather LazyBoy recliner they were eyeing when he heard the delivery truck pull into the lot.

“Oh, here we go,” he muttered under his breath.

“I can’t get this in the raspberry suede?” the older woman prodded hopefully, pointing to a different recliner altogether in the room display model.

“Not without getting that actual chair, ma’am, no. I’m sorry.”

“I really like that color,” she mused, “but just not that chair. So there’s nothing you can do?”

“I’m afraid not.” Her husband encouraged her to look at the book of samples. She was still unconvinced.

“It’s a shame. This pink matches the drapes I’m making up for my den…”

…and she was a talker. Logan groaned inwardly and simply smiled.

He could take it out on the delivery guy. That was his only consolation.

“Would you excuse me?”

Logan stalked out the back door, past Betsy’s now empty desk. The breeze ruffled his hair and set his necktie fluttering as he took in the sight of Betsy hurrying up to the truck’s window. Clearly she’d read his mind. Logan could count on her to give him hell.

“I know I’ve talked with you before about this,” she shouted over the din of the large motor. The odor of exhaust was stark and unwelcome after the aromas and savories in the café, or even the mild air freshener piped into the main salon of the store.

“We’ve got a problem here. See those trucks? They need room ta get out, cuz they’ve got customers ta visit and installations ta make,” Logan added as he approached. The burly blond behind the wheel grinned and leaned out the window, scratching the side of his nose.

“Ain’t my fault ya have this tiny little excuse fer a lot in the first place. I ain’t gonna give myself a longer walk ta move this stuff into yer store room. I don’t want the hassle, and you don’t want my union filing the work comp claim if I strain somethin’ comin’ an’ goin’, y’know?”

“Then turn your truck around,” Betsy suggested, as if he was a child of five.

“Been over that before too, sweet cheeks,” he shrugged. “Ya get outta my way, I get this done quicker. I get it done quicker, I move my truck outta yer lot. We’re both happy, and ya don’t hafta ruin that pretty little face with a frown.” Betsy’s blue eyes were full of fuck-offs. Before she could say anything else, the engine cut off and he stuffed the keys into his breast pocket.

When he got out, Logan saw how rumpled he was, as usual, presumably from starting his day at the crack of dawn. “Vic” was embroidered on his Dickie’s work shirt. His blue eyes looked hooded beneath his red trucker hat. His thick blond hair was pulled back into an unruly ponytail that reached to the middle of his back

He brushed too close to Betsy on his way into the store room to collect the hand truck.

“Sod,” she muttered under his breath. She turned to Logan. “This is the highlight of my day.”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya have any heavy objects,” Logan warned her.

“A sharp one, then.”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya go ta jail on his account, either.”

“For what? Flattening his tires?”

“Defeats the purpose,” Logan reminded her. “Wanna make him leave sooner, ain’t that the point?”

“Got any coffee?” Vic bellowed over his shoulder as he galloped the ramp into his truck and unloaded a side table.

“There’s a little left,” Betsy replied. Her tone spoke As if in volumes.

“Go ahead and bring me a cup when I’m finished? I take two sugars, but leave it black.” 

“Go,” Logan muttered to her.

“He didn’t just say that.”

“Yer not surprised. This ain’t any different than any other day. Ya’ve got more worthwhile business inside, darlin’. See if that couple’s still there any show ‘em some samples. Yer good at finessin’ the wives. Already softened ‘em up for ya.”

“You’re a prince,” she tsked. “Fine, then. I need the commission.” She made her way back into the store. 

Logan heard Vic’s low whistle as he made another trip up the ramp. He saw him watching Betsy hungrily, eyes glued to her hips in her short, tapered skirt.

“Nice,” he leered.

“Eyes up, pal,” Logan growled. “Don’t take all day finishin’ this up.”

“I’m gettin’ paid by the hour,” Vic shrugged.

“We ain’t the ones payin’ ya. And yer job don’t include harrassin’ my office manager,” Logan pointed out.

“It’s a free country. She comes in to work, lookin’ good enough ta eat, and I ain’t got a right ta look?”

“That ain’t it. Ya don’t get off talkin’ ta her like she’s a friggin’ maid. Woman’s educated, an adult and deserves respect.”

“Got plenty o’ respect fer her,” Vic shrugged again. “I respect the fact that God gave her good genes. Did you see that sweet ass? Ya just wanna bite it…” He made a low growl for emphasis. Logan couldn’t believe Vic was trying to trade locker room talk in the lot with him. Was he deaf?

A half hour later, Vic was inside with his clipboard, tallying the items he’d delivered and comparing it with the order printout on Betsy’s database. To Vic’s credit, everything was accounted for, and he patiently moved everything where Betsy asked, leaving the store room tidy. As he closed the ramp and slid the truck hatch with a loud slam, Betsy came back outside. Logan watched in amusement as she waited for him to approach as she held out a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“Now ain’t that nice, darlin’,” Vic crooned, eyeing Betsy up and down as she held out the drink. Betsy’s smile was smooth and insincere. His fingertips brushed hers as he took the cup. He took a swallow and grunted in approval. “Sweet and strong, with a little bite. Just how I like my coffee,” he remarked. “And my women.”

“Guess you’re out of luck, then. Enjoy the coffee. Have a nice trip. Ta.” Vic winked. He saluted her with his cup as he climbed back into his truck. On his way out of the lot, he blared his horn and waved. Betsy merely smiled. Logan sighed.

“Ya spit in it, didntcha?”

“I didn’t have any arsenic.”

*

Remy was still troubled two days later. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in his swivel chair. The sketch on his work table pleased him so far, but he wasn’t in the mood to continue working on it.

His phone jangled from the side table.

“You gonna get dat?” Mattie called upstairs. It sounded like she was in the kitchen, no doubt watching her stories.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Tante.” He picked up the handset. “Dis Remy.”

“I’m kidnappin’ ya,” Anna Marie warned him without preamble.

“Gonna leave Mattie a ransom note?”

“I’ll even cut up letters from magazines ta spell it out and include some pretty pictures,” Anna promised. “Unless she wants ta come along. I’ll bring the rope and she can help me tie ya up an’ throw ya in the trunk.”

“Where did ya need ta go?”

“Just window-shoppin’. Wanna check out a new futon fer mah guest room.”

“Why not a regular bed?”

“Cuz Ah had mah heart set on a futon.”

“Ain’t de most comfortable sleep.”

“It’s mah guest room,” Anna sniffed petulantly. “So ya comin’ or what?”

“Need some time outta de house,” Remy admitted. His sketch nagged him. He had yet to ink it and scan it. His next exhibit was two weeks away, and he needed to update his print shop account online and add it to his gallery. His prints were often his bread and butter, but this black and white study was the kind of work he liked to show in live venues, for that rare buyer who wanted something original. But he dismissed it. This time, he’d just sell the prints. Remy was restless; it was too tempting to procrastinate, and an afternoon with Anna fit the bill.

“Get yer act tagethah and sweet butt in gear, shoog,” she said. “Ah’m comin’ over in twenty.”

“Ya didn’t say where we’re goin’.”

“That shop down the road from Starbucks.”

“Which store, an’ which Starbucks, petit? There’s only a dozen of ‘em.”

“That furniture studio.”

“Aw, now Remy knows which one ya mean. Dat one? Seems kinda small, dontcha t’ink?”

“Ah like their window displays. They might have a nice one. Ah’m not gonna go ta one of those discount warehouses and get some cheap piece o’ shit.” It was on the tip of Remy’s tongue to say Yet you’re buying a futon. “Ah need yer eye fer color, shoog. Help me pick out a nice one. We can take Mattie, too.”

“She’s watchin’ her stories.”

“Can’t sweet talk her into comin’, huh?”

“Ya can try.”

“Bye,” Anna said, giving him an air-kiss into the receiver. Remy sighed and hung up.

He washed his hands and put away his mechanical pencils and vinyl eraser. Remy stretched and headed into the bathroom to comb his hair. The sunlight streaming in through the window was tempting; he really did need some time out of the house. Anna was his favorite partner in crime, the person he enjoyed getting into mischief with most.  
Despite the fact that she was his ex-girlfriend of five years, they still bickered like an old couple and told each other everything.

Remy found Mattie in the middle of a struggle with the pickle jar. He came up beside her and took it from her, twisting it open with a loud pop. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, sweet pea,” she said fondly. Remy kissed her temple and began helping her make sandwiches from the ingredients she had laid out on the counter. “Want one?”

“Ya know it, Tante.” Everything Mattie laid her hands on tasted good, something he always told her. Mattie stacked the wheat potato bread slices with layers of honey cured ham and roast beef, slices of ripe tomato and romaine lettuce. Remy mixed a pitcher of instant lemonade; the pink Country Time powder tickled his nose as he scooped it, making him sneeze. 

“Bless you.”

“T’anks,” he muttered. He cracked half a rack of ice cubes into the juice; they clinked in the pitcher as he stirred it and Remy automatically helped himself to a glass.

Remy was in the middle of nagging Mattie to take her afternoon dose of her pills when the doorbell rang. “Dat’s Anna. Wanna go to the furniture store fer a bit?”

“Non,” she said, shaking her head and popping a piece of muenster cheese into her mouth. “M’fine where I am, chere.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. I’ve got Luke an’ Laura t’keep me company.” Mattie was addicted to General Hospital. Remy sighed as he answered the door. Seconds later, Anna was beaming as she swept inside.

“How’s mah favorite girl?” Anna kissed Mattie’s cheek.

“Lookin’ too skinny, baby. C’mon an’ eat.”

“Remy an’ I can grab a bite downtown!”

“Naw. Pull up a seat an’ let me save ya some money. Ya want mustard an’ mayonnaise?” Remy and Anna shared a smile; Mattie knew best, and there was no point in arguing. They’d grown used to losing. Mattie was Mattie, and that was that. She bustled around the kitchen, making another thick sandwich and piling Anna’s plate high with corn chips. Remy poured the lemonade and they made short work of the sandwiches. Anna Marie and Mattie clucked at each other like hens while Remy did the dishes.

“What’re ya shoppin’ for, baby girl?”

“A futon.”

“Those seem nice. Why, d’ya need a bed?”

“Naw. Just somethin’ pretty that I can put in mah guest room in case anyone sleeps over. But Ah don’t want somethin’ that looks like a bed.”

“Why not?” Mattie snorted. Remy chuckled.

“Ah just want a futon!” Anna cried, shaking her head. “Why’ve Ah gotta keep explainin’ mahself???”

Remy and Anna Marie heckled each other the whole way out the door. The drive was typical, consisting of Remy automatically changing Anna’s radio station to his own favorite.

“See how much of yer fingers ya come back with if they keep sneakin’ over ta change that dial, shoog.”

“What? I ain’t doin’ anyt’in, petit. Just fixin’ yer radio, it wuz makin’ an awful noise.”

“Ah think ya were mistaken.”

“Naw…wait. Dat wuz music ya were listenin’ to? My bad.” Remy hated Anna’s love of hip hop and vapid dance music, cringing at the selection of discs she had tucked in a folio in her window shade. He made a sound of disgust at the choices she had to offer, including Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. No former Mouseketeers for him, thank you very much. Remy tuned it to an oldies rock station and tapped his fingers to a Def Leppard song he wore out on his cassette player in high school. Anna snorted.

They parked two blocks from the store. Remy fed the meter for a half an hour.

“Ah hope they have somethin’ decent.”

“Looks nice enough.” Remy admired the window displays. They showcased “safe” furniture, the kind of sets that included everything, including potted palms and lamps with oversized shades. Remy was relieved they didn’t have “distressed” tables for a change; who wanted a new table with strategically placed “dings” and dents in the wood? It was a waste of money, in his opinion, to take a perfectly good, expensive dining table and beat it with a length of chain and a crow bar to make it look creatively used. That was what he felt he was paying a store for when they wanted him to buy crap like that. He wasn’t fond of knotty pine, either. Give him a good quality cherry wood table any day. Remy’s tastes ran toward old-fashioned elegance with simple textures and clean lines.

Once inside, however, Remy changed his opinion. The store was bigger than it looked from outside, and Anna studied its offerings in awe.

“They’re keepin’ all this a secret, tossin’ that plain stuff out front,” she mused. She admired a selection of Tiffany lamps in their lighting section. Remy enjoyed watching the rainbow prisms reflecting off the mirrors arranged around the crystal chandeliers.

“Can I help you?” A sales clerk approached with an easy smile. Remy suppressed a grin at her purple-tinted waves of hair.

“We’re jus’ enjoyin’ yer displays,” Remy told her.

“Ah wanna find a nice futon.”

“Ah. Furnishing a guest room?”

“Yup.” Anna threw Remy a smug look.

“You can fold it up when no one’s sleeping on it. They’re very versatile.”

“See?” Anna was smug. Remy was amused.

Anna found what she was looking for almost immediately, settling on a full-sized model with a pine frame. Their clerk was enthusiastic about the sale and guided Anna through the other bedroom furniture selections, suggesting a pair of bedside tables and new lamps. Anna was a power shopper.

“Sir? Are you interested in anything here today?”

“Non, mademoiselle,” Remy answered. Her smile was appreciative, Anna noticed.

“Are you two married?”

“We get that question a lot, but nah.” Anna looped her arm around Remy’s neck. “He’s just mah partner in crime.” Remy gave Anna’s rear a swat. She poked him in the ribs, making him hiss. Betsy rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Bets, have ya seen that…” Logan’s words died on his lips.

He came out of the office in the back of the shop, hunting for the accounts receivable file for August. He walked in on a scuffle between a young couple who should have known better to act up like that in public.

Remy?

Betsy looked on, amused, while Logan looked for his escape.

It was too late. Remy looked up at the sound of Logan’s voice and pulled himself from Anna’s head lock. He sobered, but a hint of a smile toyed with his lips.

“Ya all right? Ya findin’ everything all right?”

“Oui,” he explained quickly. “Needed a futon. She did.” 

“Hi,” Anna murmured, waving. Her cheeks were pink.

She was a cute girl, in Logan’s opinion, even though her hair was even more flamboyant than Betsy’s. She had lustrous auburn hair cut in a chin-length pageboy with long bangs, but they were dyed a platinum blonde so fair they looked white.

“Just a futon? Listen, if yer lookin’ for affordable bedding, we’ve got a special on a full-sized set in the back. It’s a Serta? Might be more comfortable than a futon. Those things are murder on yer back, darlin’.” Anna threw up her hands in disgust.

“And we’re back to this again. Thanks, shoog, but Ah found what Ah wanted.” She softened her pout slightly when she noticed Remy staring at the older man with interest.

“I didn’t know ya worked this close ta the coffee shop,” Remy said.

“Just a short walk. Helps me get my exercise, I guess. Not much, but everybody needs ta stretch their legs.”

“Nice shop.”

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Logan chuckled. “Practically live here. Tempted to just bring in some blankets and sleep on the floor models.”

“Don’t mind de customers comin’ in an’ seein’ ya in yer PJs?” 

“Heaven help us all,” Betsy smirked as she rang up the sale.

“That’s enough outta you.” Logan waggled his finger in her direction. Betsy stuck out her tongue.

“Days where Ah wish Ah could show up ta work in mah jammies.” Anne wrote out the address for the delivery ticket and handed it off. 

“Saturday’s fine?” Betsy asked.

“Yep.”

“It’ll look nice in your room.”

“Gotta drag my sweet cheeks here ta the bed an’ bath store ta find a duvet.” Remy sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

“Ya really need me ta do dat now, petit?”

“Why not?”

“Remy wants a coffee. Wanna get home soon and finish de sketch I started, too.” Logan drifted back toward the back of the store again, but Remy’s voice stopped him. “Wanna stretch yer legs, mec?”

“Eh?”

“Starbucks?”

“Don’t wanna take ya away from anything.” 

“Pfft.” Anna waved her hand dismissively. “Ya can take ‘im. He’s gonna gimme a sob story ‘bout how Ah’m draggin’ him ta look at girly bedspreads.”

“Cuz ya are,” Remy pointed out.

“Exactly. And instead of bein’ a good lil’ puppet and shuttin’ yer yap while Ah shop in peace, it’ll be an hour-“

“Two hours,” he corrected her.

“…of askin’ me ‘why kint ya jus’ get dis one an’ be done wit’ it, chere?’” She folded her arms and cocked her brow.

“If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” Logan remarked. “Spend some time with yer lady friend.”

“She ain’t no lady,” Remy laughed.

“Ass,” Anna sniffed. “And Ah am just a friend. Been down that other road before.” Remy’s eyes drifted back to Logan.

“Can’t talk ya into a coffee break?” Logan searched himself for the right words, a polite enough rejection, but came up empty.

“I can hold down the fort,” Betsy said.

“Where do ya know each other from?” Anna asked suddenly.

“Met at a dinner,” Logan said.

“He did me a favor. One I can never repay.” Logan cleared his throat, which suddenly felt tight. “Mec…can I talk to ya fo’ a sec? Over dere?”

“Sure.”

“Rem, I’ll be over here.” Betsy and Anna chatted by the Tiffany lamps while Logan led the way back toward the courtesy desk in the back.

“Remy wanted ta just say…sorry. Guess I got too familiar the ot’er day wit’ my questions.”

“It’s…all right. Some days it’s harder than others, ya know? It’s still hard ta talk about…ya know.”

“Oui.”

“So…how’ve ya been doin’, since yer surgery?” Remy beamed.

“Right as rain. I’ve never felt better.” Logan looked at him oddly for a moment.

“Jeannie always used to say that. Right as rain.” 

“Nice day fo’ a walk?” Logan hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

It was a nice day, indeed.


	5. People Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men at a cafe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not have mentioned it, but this is a no-powers fic. No empathy, kinetic energy, healing factors, claws or enhanced senses. Logan is middle-aged and has the health issues that go with it. FYI.

“Ya’ve got long legs, kid.”

“Eh?”

“Gonna hafta stretch mine a little, ya know?”

“Merde…sorry, mec. Wuzn’t even payin’ attention, jus’ plowin’ along…” Remy slowed his gait slightly as they neared the coffee shop, letting Logan catch up to him and catch his breath. The disparity between their heights was amusing at first glance. The top of Logan’s head barely rose above Remy’s shoulder.

“So much fer a leisurely stroll,” Logan kidded, chuckling. He lightly punched his shoulder. “Gonna make me work out on my coffee break, eh?” Remy grinned.

“Lemme know if ya wanna meet me at de crack of dawn, mon ami.”

“I wake up when the sun does, and not a moment before,” Logan admitted.

“Great time fo’ a mo’nin’ run. Sidewalks are jus’ about empty, no street traffic. Like runnin’ on de beach sometimes, too. Best sunrise in creation, an’ we can hog it all t’ ourselves.”

Despite Logan’s protests, his own stride was relatively long and he was fit from taking Daisy on her daily walks.

Remy nearly salivated at the scent of French roast as they entered the shop. There was already a decent crowd inside, uncomplicating their decision to sit out on the patio.

“Hungry?”

“I could pick at something…nah. Not here.”

“Can’t tempt ya?”

“Nah. That’s fine. M’fine.”

“I’d like de cranberry scone.” Remy’s long, slender finger tapped the glass countertop. “Ain’ got much of a sweet tooth?”

“Not so much.”

“More of a salty an’ savory guy.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

“Might like Remy’s barbecue, den. Or dis place downtown dat his friend Luke owns.”

“What kinda food?”

“Steakhouse.” Logan grinned.

“Lucas’. I know that one. Man, it’s been a while since I went in there. Jean took me there, once…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he got back on track. “I like their marinade.

“Dat’s what I mean. Luke uses a heavy hand wit’ de seasonin’s, and he don’ skimp on de heat, either.”

“I like my food to have a little flavor, a little ‘oomph,’” Logan agreed. “I ain’t much of a cook myself, but the thing is, I don’t even eat out that often, either.”

“Where’s de fun in dat?” Remy was all about fun. “Ya oughta get out more, ‘specially now dat de weather’s warmin’ up.” Logan mused on this while he read the drink menu on the back wall.

“Double latte, skim. No flavor.” Remy made a low “hmp” and shrugged.

“Pretty straightforward.”

“I don’t play when it comes to my caffeine, bub. So sue me.”

“Non. It’d be a crime if ya came in here and paid three dollars jus’ fo’ ‘coffee regular.’” Remy rocked back on his heels and made a snap decision for the barista scribbling their names and orders on their cups. “Single mocha. Nonfat. Half a shot of vanilla, half a shot of-“

“Almond,” Logan murmured, reciting it with him in unison. He scowled. “Uh, almond, right?” Remy was staring at him oddly, making the tingle of déjà vu creep and spread down his back more keenly.

“Good guess.”

“Ya just seemed like the almond type.” Logan had no idea what possessed him to say that. He was having a hard time thinking around the expression on Remy’s sculpted features and the surprise in his dark eyes.

It was hard not to look at Remy. But he glanced away, easily distracted by their server asking if that was all they wanted. Logan was quicker with his wallet than Remy, automatically yanking out a crumpled twenty.

“Ya don’t hafta do dat,” Remy insisted.

“Neither do you,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Den Remy’ll get de next one, next time.”

“If ya want,” Logan said. It took him a few seconds to realize that he’d agreed to a “next time.”

But it wasn’t a problem. Remy was a decent fellow. More than decent. Remy smiled with satisfaction, then led them outside.

They sat at a different table than the one Remy occupied before.

“I never got the chance ta ask ya, Rem, what do ya do for a livin’?”

“Try not ta waste anybody’s time,” he scoffed. “Non, jus’ bullshittin’, mec. Remy does a little of dis, lil’ o’ dat. Work as a graphic designer and do art on commission.”

“No shit,” Logan murmured. “Hm. What kind of stuff have ya done?”

“Local stuff. And some not so local stuff.” Logan noticed that Remy had a carryall over his shoulder like the one he used for his laptop. He laid it over his lap and unsnapped it, moving his scone plate aside.

He removed a leather-bound notebook from it and opened it. “Remy always keeps one of dese wit’ ‘im. Never know when I’m gonna feel inspired.” He slid the book over to Logan. He watched him pick it up, face shifting as he turned each page, from curiosity to wonder.

“Wow. Wow. That’s somethin’, kid.” The images felt so real that Logan thought he could touch them. Still life drawings, animals, passerby at what looked like the local park. Logan chuckled at one of a sleeping toddler in a stroller, bottle still clutched in a plump hand. “Love this one. It’s cute.”

“Thanks. Remy likes drawin’ lil’ ones.”

“Ya have a gift for it.” Logan continued to flip, peering up at Remy occasionally. The younger man was watching him expectantly, leaning back in his chair and toying with his drink. He dragged the red coffee stirrer through the whipped cream, drawing patterns in the sprinkles of nutmeg.

He spoke to him while his eyes roamed over Remy’s fine line work of a large brownstone building that Logan knew he’d seen downtown before. “How long ya been doin’ this?”

“Since I wuz a kid. Loved cartoons an’ superheroes. Sports teams. Ya know de deal, young boys’ stuff. After a while, though, Remy knew he liked t’draw anyt’in an’ ev’ry’tin.”

“What do yer folks think of it?”

“Mattie’s my biggest fan.” 

“She an aunt, or…?”

“She’s ev’ry’tin t’me. Took me in. Finished raisin’ me.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“I’m glad she was there for you. She’s a real sweetheart; it was nice meeting her.”

Not wanting to leave Logan in suspense, Remy supplied, “Remy’s pere liked his alcohol.”

“That was rough for you.”

“Whatever don’ kill ya,” Remy shrugged. His smile was impish, but Logan saw sadness in his eyes.

“Just you, or any brothers and sisters?”

“I wuz an only child. Jus’ as well.”

“That’s hard, though. Lonely. Not to mention, ya don’t have anyone else t’blame it on when ya get caught doin’ somethin’.”

“No shit,” Remy agreed dryly. “Remy was always caught redhanded. Could’ve been anyone who done it, but everyone pointed de finger at poor lil’ me.”

“Shame,” Logan murmured. His chest shook.

He continued to leaf through the drawings. Some were in ink, giving them more depth, making them pop. 

Logan stumbled on one that gave him pause. “Where is this one done from, a hospital?”

“Oui.”

“Hm.” It was sketchier and less detailed than the previous ones, one of a series of sketches in the same setting. Logan saw people in each one in lab coats and scrubs working from carts and nurses’ stations. It brought back the too-fresh image in his mind of the E/R and black gurneys crowding the hallway, the large portable X-ray cart, telemetry monitors adding their beeps to the buzz of noise…

Logan clapped the book shut, hastily sliding it back to Remy. Remy blinked.

“Y’all right, mec?”

“Um…yeah. Just…fine.”

Remy felt worried at the sudden shift in Logan’s features as they went from quiet reflection to remembered pain. He tried to change the subject as he put away the art journal.

“Been pretty busy with a new account for a company that makes cross-trainer shoes.”

“There money in it?”

“One of my most lucrative accounts. Lookin’ forward t’finishin’ it.”

“Was this what you always wanted to do with yer life?”

“Took me a while t’figure out how ta marry what I always enjoyed with tryin’ t’make a livin’.

“Not everyone does that. I sure didn’t.”

“Still got a lot of yer life ahead of ya, homme.”

“I ain’t exactly green, youngster.” Remy chuckled.

“Ya still got a little flavor left. Ya ain’t ready ta be spit out yet.” Logan barked a rusty laugh.

“Smug little bastard.”

“Non. M’just m’own biggest fan. Remy’s perfect as soon as he wakes up every mo’nin’.”

“Ya are, huh?”

“Yup. Problem is, de he gets outta bed. No promises, den. All downhill from dere, give or take.”

“No shit. Felt like my office manager was about to make me help her bury a body today.”

“Who?”

“My office admin or the guy she wanted ta kill?”

“Both. Either,” Remy shrugged.

“Betsy’s my right hand, the sweetheart with the purple hair. Vic, he’s the delivery guy. Works her last nerve, keeps gettin’ fresh.”

“She don’ seem like one t’take much nonsense offa anyone.”

“He knows not ta take it too far with me around ta kick his ass, too, but Bets can hold her own.”

“Ya like sales?”

“Eh. It’s a living. Been doin’ it for a long time.”

“Ever considered doin’ somet’in’ else?”

“Jeannie an’ I put a lot into the store. Kind of a mom n’ pop business. Gives it more characters than those discount warehouse stores where ya get a cookie cutter living room set of furniture that looks like everyone else’s house.”

“True dat,” Remy agreed easily. “Remy likes t’ings dat have character an’ old charm.” Logan smiled.

“Like me?” he joked. Remy shook his head. His answering grin was wicked.

“Like I said, ya ain’t dried up yet.” Remy sucked a dab of whip from the end of his stirrer.

“Yer a real pip.” Logan took a sip of his own drink and wiped his lip with his finger and thumb.

“Seem t’be in good health, great shape.” With those words, he treated himself to a long look at Logan.

“Ain’t gona enter any beauty pageants any time soon.”

“Might give other boys a run fo’ dere money, mec. Show ‘em how it’s done.”

“Yeah. Lemme break out my Speedo and some wax,” he tsked in disgust.

“Whateva. Y’look good.”

And he did.

His looks had character, indeed. Logan’s eyes were hooded, deep and dark, so brown they appeared black. They were webbed with fine laugh lines and topped with strong, bushy brows with a slight arch. His mouth was wide when he smiled; Logan owned the type of grin that split his face and promised mischief.

He sported a shallow, thin scar beneath his jaw, something Remy noticed when he scratched it.

“How’d ya get dat?” He tipped his own chin up and motioned to an imaginary spot there.

“Messin’ around. Showin’ off fer Jeannie on one of our vacations together. Walkin’ a fence. She distracted me, somethin’ it was easy for her ta do. My pride was more hurt than my face.”

“Ouch.”

“At least it made a free souvenir.”

“Stick with tee shirts an’ shot glasses, homme.”

They enjoyed their coffee and chatted away the hour. Logan was surprised that they would have so much to talk about, with them having so little in common. But Remy’s personality was bubbly and grew on him. It was hard to resist such a smart aleck.

He sobered briefly, watching Logan thoughtfully.

“Seriously, tho’, mon ami. Whateva ya do wit’ yer life, make sure it makes ya happy. It’s short. Too short.”

“I know.”

“Dere wuz days Remy didn’ t’ink he’d wake up in de mo’nin’. Nights where I didn’ sleep too well, wonderin’ if de dark wuz de last t’ing I’d see. Ev’ry time I woke up t’see de sun, dere wuz a chance. Dat’s what I tol’ maself. It wuz hard, de day dat dey called me an’ tol’ me dey had a heart. Cried fo’ joy, cried fo’ sadness, cuz I knew someone had t’leave dis earth fo’ Remy t’have his chance t’live.”

Logan’s face was a rictus of pain.

“Ya have a nice life, kid. I’m glad.” Remy sensed he’d once again said too much.

His slender hand darted out and captured Logan’s. He felt the jump of every muscle in his arm as they tensed, the faint jerk of his body as he resettled in his seat. He was right; Logan was about to flee.

“Don’ go. Please.”

Logan breathed long, deep breaths as he tried to compose himself. His mouth felt numb as it pushed out words that he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Ya don’t understand how it is fer me. Ta lay awake nights, in the dark, with the same question burnin’ in my head all the time. Why Jean? Why my Jean? Why now? It wasn’t her time.” His tone was slightly pleading, as though needing Remy to understand. From the look in his dark eyes, he could tell that he did. Remy’s artists’ fingers gripped his hand, stroking his warm skin with his thumb absently as Logan spoke. “It just wasn’t her time. So it’s hard, meetin’ ya. Talkin’ to ya. I always wondered who it would help. Signin’ the papers ta donate her organs. I’m so glad ya have yer life back, but it’s killin’ me, not havin’ her in my life anymore. Killin’ me. Everything’s just swallowin’ me up in a big, black hole. It’s like, I can still feel bits an’ pieces of her when I’m alone. That little bit of her scent’s still in the house. I go t’bed in the sheets she picked out and eat dinner out of the pans she cooked with and still see old notes she made on the calendar for all the stuff we did together, all the stuff she wouldn’t let me forget. She was the organized one, like a fuckin’ walking Rolodex…”

Logan felt so raw that he didn’t even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until Remy silently handed him a napkin.

“So I thought I’d have some closure, y’know? Meetin’ the one who got her heart.”

“Ya saved my life.”

“No, Jeannie did.” Logan flicked away the moisture cooling on his skin, hating the way it made his lower lids itch. He cleared his throat and carefully withdrew his hand from Remy’s grasp, then regretted it. The contact had soothed him, loosened something tight in his chest for those brief moments.

He rose from the table. “I’m gonna head out. Look, it was good seein’ ya again. I don’t always get out much. Ya know…” he hedged with a shrug. Remy shrugged back, nodding.

“I bet. Logan?”

“Eh?”

“Don’ be a stranger.” Remy handed him a business card on cream stock. His eyes looked hopeful as he waited for him to take it.

Logan reacted slowly, different emotions flitting over his features. His fingers closed around it, and he could swear he felt a charge, a current transfer to him through it.

“See ya, kid.”

“See ya, Logan.”

As he watched him leave, Remy hoped it was true.


	6. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from a second false start, they try again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is angsty and sad. It will lighten up soon, in bits and pieces.

Remy had just bitten into his BLT when the small cordless handset on his desk trilled at him.

“Shit,” he muttered, trying to swallow the mouthful of toasted bread before the third ring. “LeBeau Design?”

“Hey, shoog. I catch ya in the middle of anything?”

“Lunch. And I’m up t’my elbows in the sketch for a poster.”

“I wanna see,” she whined, sounding like a little girl.

“Wait til I’ve got more of it done, petit.”

“Excuses, excuses. Always holdin’ out on the good stuff.”

“What’re ya up to, Anna?” he sighed as he found a stray bit of bacon and popped it into his mouth.

“Wanted t’see if ya felt like a movie this weekend.”

“Which one?”

“Origins?”

Remy snorted. “Heard it’s overrated.”

“C’mon. Ya know ya want to,” she sang. “It’s got Hugh showin’ skin. That new guy looks kinda promising, too, shoog.”

“Eh. Jus’ looks…slap-dash. Special effects look kinda cheap.”

“That’s cuz yer an artist,” she pointed out. “That makes ya picky.”

“Yer only priority is seein’ Hugh.”

“That’s yer priority, too. Admit it. Man’s fine.”

She had a point…

“Which show?”

“Matinee?”

“Four o’clock one or earlier?”

“Four’s fine.” She rang off with no further salutation. Remy sighed. At least Wolvie was eye candy, even if it sucked.

*

Half an hour later, Remy nudged Anna in the dark, gesturing for the extra large cup of fruit punch. The salt from the popcorn made his lips slightly raw.

“Here ya go,” she offered.

“Why didja talk me into dis again?” 

“Don’t act like Ah pulled yer leg. Ya wanted t’see it as much as Ah did,” she whispered back. The screen was a hale of cable-assisted flips and explosions, still not quite worth the price of admission. “See, he’s takin’ his shirt off again. Now shut yer yap.” So Remy shut his yap and was content to drool.

Two rows from the back of the theater, Logan sighed and rubbed out a kink in his neck. The seats were just as uncomfortable as he remembered, making him wish he’d just rented a few Terminator discs instead and taken them home. But he felt restless. It was hard to leave the house, yet it was even harder to close himself up within four walls. Nights were the worst.

The theater was half full. Logan was grateful that he’d waited a couple of weeks to avoid the crowds when the movie premiered.

His initial impressions of being back in a theater were okay. He missed the scent of popcorn and hot dogs. The air conditioning in the front lobby was a welcome reprieve from the summer heat. It felt good to lose himself in the escapist action playing out before him.

The guy playing Sabertooth could have been bigger. That thought nagged him throughout the story. He munched his popcorn down to the last fragments ad wondered how much longer he had until the ending credits and the “surprise” at its finale.

At least work was going well. Logan loved the summer construction boom. Staging companies were his best source of business for the new houses going up on every block. The living room set displayed in Logan’s front window was his most popular model and it was flying out of his warehouse before he could order more.

The rest of his week looked busy. A doctor’s appointment for himself, a trip to the vet for Daisy to get her shots, and some long overdue yard work were the tip of the iceberg. It had been necessary, at first, to throw himself into such a hectic pace after Jean was gone. It helped him to focus past the pain. But now he was just burnt out.

Down in the center row of the theater, Remy and Anna were still aghast and fighting over the last of the fruit punch/

“Don’t hog it!”

“Go get anudda one, petit!”

“Ah don’t wanna miss the end!” The woman behind them shushed them impatiently. “Sorry,” Remy hissed over his shoulder.

“See whatcha did?” Anna nagged.

“Brat,” he argued before settling down. Anna snorted, then tossed a popcorn seed at him.

The credits rolled mercifully up the blackened screen.

“That was a hot mess.”

“Best part wuz de waterfall scene.”

“Darn skippy.” They stretched, working out kinks in their hips from sitting so long. They watched the rest of it from the walkway and smiled over the ending.

“Looks like a sequel.”

“Spinoff,” he corrected her.

“Y’know we’re gonna see it, shoog.”

“I wuz bein’ nice jus’ lettin’ ya drag me ta dis one, petit.”

“C’mon. Ya had a good time,” she accused. They moved out of the way as several people filed down the steps in the dark, edging past them. Remy wasn’t paying attention as he turned to throw the popcorn bucket and drink cup in the trash can nearby. He stumbled into someone broadly built and solid.

“Oof!”

“Whoop…sorry, sorry! Did I step on ya?”

“Non, m’fine…hey. Logan!” Remy grinned in recognition and clapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

“Well, here’s a familiar face,” Anna piped up. “Ah love mah futon.”

“I’m glad,” he said, feeling self-conscious. Logan dressed for the theater in loose, faded, fraying jeans with holes in the knee and hip pocket, not expecting to see anyone he knew. His gray ribbed tank was snug and soft, breathable to accommodate the humidity outside. A relatively new pair of black Adidas shod his feet. Logan kept his old, beat-up pair in the garage for mowing the lawn on Saturdays.

The lights went up, bathing the theater in dim light. Remy and Anna’s stylish clothes embarrassed him slightly. Remy wore a pair of cool, bone-colored linen pants and a cream guayabera shirt. He looked fresh and young and smelled like sports wash and body spray. It fit him.

“Wish I’d known ya were gonna go an’ see dis. Remy would’ve invited ya along.”

“Next time,” Logan suggested. Remy’s card was still burning a hole in his wallet. He’d been tempted to call him.

But they lived in a small town. He was always likely to see him again. Wasn’t he?

“Hungry?” Anna spoke this time. She watched the exchange between the two men with interest.

“Just had popcorn, petit.”

“Ah want real food. C’mon, let’s go t’Round Table for a combo.” She tugged on Remy’s elbow. He rolled his eyes.

“Ya can come, too,” she said, poking Logan impatiently. “Got anywhere else ya need t’be, shoog?”

“Well…no.”

“C’mon. Shake a leg.” Before he could argue, she looped her arm through his, linking the the three of them and practically dragging them out to the lobby. Logan shot Remy an incredulous, helpless look around the back of Anna’s head. Remy just suppressed his chuckles and gave him a look that said “Let it be.”

So Logan let it go.

They crossed the parking lot and cruised inside the pizza parlor. The interior was comfortingly dark like the theater, and the crowd inside was just as casual as Logan, which suited him just fine.

“What’s yer poison? Whaddya feel like eating?” Anna asked, nudging Logan and nodding to the menu overhead.

“Anything with meat,” he shrugged. “No anchovies.”

“No raw tomatoes,” Remy added. “Ruins a perfectly good pizza when dey drip all over de cheese.”

“What he said,” Logan agreed. Remy grinned. Anna rolled her eyes.

“Fine. They can put mine on the side,” she decided for them before taking the liberty of ordering. “One salad bar. Three drinks. One extra large combo pizza, tomatoes on the side.” Remy was already fishing money out of his wallet before Logan could suggest otherwise. He caught his worried glance. 

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, chere. I’ll get dis one.”

Anna pointed to the stack of board games on the table in the corner. “Challenge ya ta a mean game of Sorry?”

“Nah,” Remy supplied. Logan cocked one bushy brow.

“Fraid she’ll beat ya?”

“Non.” Remy selected a box carefully from the stack. “Remy simply prefers Chutes an’ Ladders.”

Then it was on.

“Yer goin’ down!” Logan growled under his breath as Remy flicked the spinner.

He was right. Remy snorted as he let his playing piece slide down the chute after rolling a four.

“This game’s fixed.”

“Boo hoo,” Anna told him as she climbed the ladder on her turn.

It was almost a shame to put the game aside when their order was called. Logan sheepishly handed the box and its contents to a boy of about five.

“You guys were playing that long enough,” he informed him crisply. Logan shot his parents across the aisle an amused glance as they reminded him to be polite. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, bub. Have at it.”

“Thank you.”

“What a lil’ t’ief,” Remy murmured, face wreathed in disappointment. “Remy was jus’ gettin’ warmed up.”

But their dinner didn’t lose momentum once the food made it to the table. Remy and Anna took their turns at the salad bar. Logan sat across from them and truly noticed their body language and easy manner with each other. The gender difference wasn’t a barrier to their friendship, showing no strain of hidden attraction. They really were like siblings.

Siblings bent on the last word, last poke, or last noogie. Logan sighed, then chuckled.

“She started it,” Remy insisted as they engaged in a slap fight.

“Don’t make me separate you two,” Logan admonished, pointing his soda straw at them with a little shake.

“Aw, Dad,” Anna whined. “He won’t stop touching me!”

“Man,” Logan muttered. “Reminds me of my brother John and me. My mom always used to threaten us with Dad stopping the car to get us if we didn’t stop fighting in the back. But it was usually Mom who’d actually smack us. She’d just reach over the back of the seat and get whoever was sitting closest.” Anna giggled.

“Sounds pretty old school.”

“Yup. None of that ‘time out’ stuff,” Logan remarked. “Must’ve worked, though. Neither one of us ever got arrested.”

“Don’ wanna live dangerously, mec?”

“Didn’t say that. Bein’ married kinda put the kibosh on my plans for world domination, though.” 

“See, Remy? Sittin’ with a one-time dictator over here.”

“Always did like forceful men.” Logan blushed, then ducked his head to his plate.

Was the kid flirting with him?

It was time to admit it. He’d picked up on those signals when they had coffee. Both times, if he really remembered the details. The coy looks. The way he flicked his eyes over him whenever he spoke, taking in his minor gestures and watching his hands.

Which left the other question…

“So how’d you two meet?”

“We get that question a lot,” Anna said. She fortified herself with a sip of diet Pepsi. “Back in high school, if ya can believe that.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. Remy was mah first sweetheart.”

“Quit it, girl. Yer makin’ dis ol’ Cajun blush.”

“Thought he was hot shit, too.”

“Cuz I wuz,” Remy shrugged. The curl of his chiseled lips spoke volumes. He still thought that.

“Wasn’t quite meant t’be. Not fer lack of tryin’, Ah guess. At least on mah part.” She looked at him fondly, then pinched his cheek. “Turned out that he was spendin’ as much time droolin’ over mah old Rob Lowe an’ Tom Cruise posters as Ah wuz.”

Ah. Logan nodded, content with this knowledge. 

“Talk about havin’ a Will and Grace moment,” Anna went on.

“No hard feelins’.” 

“Naw. None. It felt good ta have one good guy friend who knew the deal when it came ta mah guy problems when Ah dated anybody new.”

“Been a real gallery of characters so far. No accountin’ f’r taste, chere.”

“Hey, Ah dated you, didn’t I?” More poking ensued. Logan sighed, shaking his head.

Remy shot Logan furtive looks through the rest of the meal as they chatted. Logan felt heat creep over his flesh beneath those glances, and almost…exposed.

The sun was setting outside, creating a gorgeous backdrop for the strip mall and theater. “Nice,” Anna murmured. “Seems like a waste ta let this night just slip by without using it up. Beer?”

“Yer gonna wear me out,” Remy said.

“Got an early day tomorrow?” Logan asked. His own words surprised him. He’d been doubtful enough when he left his house that afternoon as to how long he wanted to stay out, but now, a restlessness gripped him. Yes, it felt good to go out, to have company. Fun company.

Remy looked surprised and pleased. “Non. Not too early. Might call Mattie an’ let her know m’ gonna be out, though.”

“Check in. Keep that curfew,” Anna teased.

“Don’ act all smug. She’ll expect you t’check in, too, chere.”

“Pfft.” She and Logan exchanged grins as Remy dialed his tiny cell. He smiled fondly as Mattie came on. Logan could barely make out the buzz of her voice over the noise of the parlor. It was comical to watch Remy’s expressions change as he spoke.

“Hey, Mattie. Yup. Movie was kinda what I t’ought it’d be. Yeah, waste o’ good money when de DVD’ll be out in a few weeks. Oui. Uh-huh. Ate jus’ now. Wit’ Anna. An’ my friend Logan. Y’know, Logan.” He leaned forward on his elbows and sighed, looking up at Logan through his lashes. “Wuz’nt gonna head home quite yet. Why? Need anyt’in’?” Remy looked smug all of the sudden. “Here, petit.” He handed Anna the phone. “Told ya.”

“Sheesh,” she murmured, but she was all smiles when she took it. “Hi, Mattie. Yeah, I’m makin’ him behave. Yeah, I’m behavin’ too. Gonna take him out past his bedtime, though. Okay. I won’t talk t’strangers. I won’t take no wooden nickels, either. I promise. What…wait? Ya wanna what? Okay.” She handed Logan the phone. “Here ya go.”

“Huh?”

“She wants t’talk t’you.”

“Uh…okay.” Logan looked surprised. “H’lo?”

“Keep those two outta trouble,” Mattie said without preamble. “An’ how ya doin’, sweetheart? Dose two showin’ ya a good time?”

“The best.”

“Dat’s good. Mark it on your calendar t’have dinner wit’ Remy an’ me, y’hear? Like seafood?”

“Love it.”

“Bouillabaisse,” she said simply. “Come hungry.”

“You bet. I’ll bring dessert.”

“Just bring yaself,” she snapped, tsking. “Remy’s a bad boy, not invitin’ ya over sooner den dis.”

“That’s okay.”

“Naw, it ain’t. Gonna take care of dat now. Make sure dose two behave,” she admonished.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Have a good time.”

“Will do.”

“G’night, den.”

“Don’t wanna talk t’Remy again?”

“Naw. G’night.” He raised his eyebrows as the phone clicked. She was abrupt, but he liked her.

“So that’s that. Time for beer?” Anna said hopefully.

“Lead on, Macduff,” Remy said cheerfully.

Logan’s revelation about the nature of Remy’s friendship with Anna helped Logan feel slightly less like a third wheel, but he still felt self-conscious. They drove in their respective cars to Harry’s Hideaway and parked on the street three blocks away. Anna once again corralled them both, linking arms with herself in the middle as they went inside. The interior of the bar wasn’t as cool as the theater; fans spun overhead, moving the air around but doing little to stem the humidity.

“Molson,” Logan informed the bartender. He turned to Remy. “Pitcher?”

“Not Anna’s favorite,” he mentioned, “but go ahead. I’m game.”

They played darts and pool. The only music came from the jukebox in the back, in front of the large mirrored panel and just across from the rest rooms. Logan would take James Brown and Eric Clapton over top forties garbage any day.

Remy and Anna earned appreciative glances all night. Logan didn’t blame anyone for staring. They were striking, both individually and as a pair. Anna’s skirt stopped just short of criminal, making Remy chide her as she took her shot at the billiard table.

“Can’t take ya anywhere, petit.”

“Mind yer own business, Rem.”

“I’m tellin’ Mattie on ya.”

“Betta not.” But it had the desired result. As she pressed her cue into the cube of light blue chalk, a drink arrived via an amused waitress. She slipped Anna the note that accompanied.

“Gentleman over there,” she said, pointing. Anna sighed as she caught sight of a couple of men at the bar. The one in the trucker hat waved. She waved back, then shook her head.

“Send it back, shoog.”

“That’s what I figured.” She ignored the loud “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, give a guy a chance!” and went back to her game.

Moments later, a second drink came over.

“Didn’t he get the hint?” she muttered.

“This one’s actually for him,” the waitress remarked, amused as she nodded to Remy. This one came from a gaggle of girls by the jukebox this time. The one with long black hair winked and licked her lips. She made her thumb and pinky into a phone. “Call me,” she mouthed. Remy’s chest shook.

“Strike two,” Anna murmured, tsking. Logan took his shot and grinned beneath his baseball cap. He patted himself on the back for being immune. 

Young people. Honestly…

“Send it on back,” Remy said. He blew the girls a kiss, then turned away.

Just when the game was getting good, Logan looked up from the last striped ball as the waitress set a beer down on the edge of the table.

“Please don’t tell me I have to take this one back,” she pleaded, handing him a note. For about the millionth time that day, Logan flushed.

“Ya gotta be kidding.”

“Nope. Over there. Wanna write a note back?” She offered him a pen. Logan looked where she was gesturing, staring over her shoulder toward the bar.

A woman and a man, this time. Okaaaaayyyy… The man cocked his brow. The woman winked.

“Geez,” he muttered. “Too rich fer my blood, darlin’.”

“Right. I’ll just take this back,” she said. “No note?”

“Nah.”

“Must be nice to be so popular. This happen often to you guys?”

“Not me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” She gave him a little pat, satisfied with the picture he made and his faint, masculine scent. The mug went back to the bar on her tray, much to the disappointment of Logan’s would-be admirers.

“Whatsamatter? Not interested?” Remy asked, sidling up to him. Logan chalked his cue.

“Not this time.”

“Came on too strong?”

“Kinda.”

“Wrong scenario?”

“Yep.”

“What if it was only one of ‘em?”

“Still would’ve been a little forward,” Logan explained.

Remy was standing close enough that Logan could smell that tantalizing body spray and the kid’s natural male scent, mingled with the beer on his breath. 

The hairs on his nape stood on end, and Logan felt a rash of goosebumps.

“Neither one of ‘em appealed to ya?”

“They’re not too hard on the eyes,” Logan shrugged. “Why? Interested? Send ‘em a note. Or a drink,” he joked.

“Non. Not Remy’s cuppa tea.”

“Either? Or both?”

“Take yer pick.” Remy watched the couple leave; the man led his partner out the front door with his hand at the small of her back. “Gotta respect ‘em for bein’ straightforward ‘bout what they wanted.”

“Guess so.” Logan made his last shot, then began a run of the table.

“Lucky,” Anna whined as he sank her green solid ball.

“It’s just physics,” Logan shrugged.

“Non. Chemistry,” Remy murmured. He nudged Logan with the pitcher. “’Nother?”

Logan stared up at him, hesitating over the green felt. “Yeah. Why not? Thanks.”

“Sure, chere.”

There it was. That nickname. 

Remy’s fingertips felt cool as they grazed his when he handed him the sweating, red plastic cup. Logan shivered. From beneath his cap, he watched Remy over the rim as he drank.

Anna quietly made herself scarce; Remy could’ve sworn she said something about a trip to the little girl’s room. 

Between the easy conversation, constant barrage of oldies and chatter around them and the cold beer, they hardly noticed.

*

That night played itself again in his mind’s eye while Logan waited in the lobby, leafing through a dog-eared issue of Newsweek. He figured Doc Samson’s secretary must have been cleaning out her garage again as he noticed the date and cover; the volume and issue number showed the magazine was from at least two presidents ago.

“Logan?”

“Coming,” he rumbled as he rose from his seat. He’d been dreading his physical for the past month, but he dutifully promised to keep the appointment. He’d grown so used to Jean setting them for him.

Leonard Samson’s admin showed him to the scale. “Hop on!” She was too damned chipper for Logan’s taste. She slid the weights a few notches, made a thoughtful sound, then scribbled notes on her clipboard.

“Not bad. You lost ten pounds since your last visit.”

“That good?”

“If Doctor Samson says it is, then it must be!” she told him with another perky smile. Logan rolled his eyes at her retreating back as she led him to an exam room. “Room one for you. He’ll be in soon.” Logan seated himself in the chair instead of the table, letting his eyes roam over the clinical posters and random items printed with drug names. It was a sunny day outside, and he longed to be out taking Daisy for a walk.

 _Knock, knock_. “Can I come in?”

“I’m decent,” Logan promised.

“C’mon, man, you know the routine. Gown up. I’ll be back. I have to check on a no-show.” Leonard looked slightly irritated that Logan was still in his civvies instead of his skivvies. 

“Got it.” He closed the door on him and Logan began to remove his shoes.

Once he was wearing the gown that gaped open in the back, he felt the drafty air conditioning and the crackle of the tissue paper drape beneath him. He sat, letting his feet dangle and musing over the last time he’d come there. 

_Shave and a haircut…_

“Two bits,” Logan replied for him.

“Ah. Ready, set, go. How’re we doing?”

“Good enough.”

“That tells me just about anything. C’mon, man, how’re you really doing?”

“Hangin’ in there, doc.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about that. Say ‘ah.’” Logan suffered the tongue depressor and suppressed the urge to flinch as Leonard kneaded his lymph nodes. It tickled.

“How’s work?”

“Good.”

“Busy?”

“Very.”

“Been getting out and around? The weather’s nice for it, finally.”

“Don’t miss the cold,” Logan agreed. “Or at least not the gray sky. I don’t mind it when it’s just cool.”

“No kidding.” The blood pressure tightened and squeezed Logan’s arm almost but not past his pain tolerance; he hated that strangling sensation. It always made him hold his breath until it hissed back down.

“Little high,” Leonard said with concern. “How are you sleeping?”

“Not great.”

“Eating?”

“Not bad.”

“Exercising?”

“Well…eh.”

“Eh?”

“Not as much as I should?”

“Right. That’s what I thought. Been spending a lot of time indoors, then, after all?”

“Guess so.” Logan breathed in, breathed out between his questions as Leonard listened to his chest.

“You guess so. Right.” Leonard continued the rest of the exam, testing the usual things and making the usual noises at Logan as he wrote down his notes. He bent over and coughed for him, focusing on the poster showing a brain slice and recommending Lexapro for mood swings.

Once Logan was garbed and decent again, Leonard pronounced him “looking pretty good.”

“But,” he nagged, shaking his Lipitor pen at him, “I don’t want you to rest on your laurels. Get some exercise. You have a dog, right?”

“Daisy.”

“Take her out. Don’t neglect her. That’s half the benefit of having a dog. Walk her a couple of times a day. She’ll love you for it, anyway. Throw a Frisbee with her.”

“Got it.”

“Go to the beach after hours. Or first thing in the morning, before it gets too hot,” he recommended. “I don’t like that hypertension. You aren’t in bad shape. Your weight is down, so that’s good. You’ve never had a lot of fat on you, anyway, but since you’re getting older, let’s stay about where you are.”

“Sounds good.”

“But that still doesn’t mean that high pressure is healthy. It leads to other things. Bad things.” Leonard sat back in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee, looping his arm over the back of his chair. “Any depression? Out of the norm?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Extreme? Bad dreams? Negative or suicidal thoughts?”

That gave Logan pause.

“I have dreams. They ain’t pretty. I miss Jeannie. I just…feel empty.”

“Need anything for it? A scrip of something mild? Or a referral? I have a couple of counselors in my practice who won’t make you feel like you’re been dissected under a microscope.”

“Nah.”

“Offer’s open if you change your mind. Don’t be shy about giving me a call.”

“I won’t. I ain’t the shy type, Doc, you know that.” He got up and shook his hand.

Logan made a note to himself to take Daisy on her walk after dinner. He reflected on what the doctor told him, but slowly his momentum drained, and the sunshine overhead barely registered. His mood turned gray and he felt that darkness, that loneliness, beckoning to him.

I just…feel empty. 

The rest of his afternoon went by without incident, but something nagged at Logan, an urge that followed him home.

Restlessness. Again.

He accepted Daisy’s wet kisses as he stooped and scratched behind her ears. “There’s daddy’s girl,” he crooned. “Walk? Wanna walk?”

Of course she wanted a walk. The loud thump of her tail on the floor seemed to cry, “You had to ask, silly man!” Logan laughed as he retrieved the leash.

“Walk, then chow. I got it, I got it.” He merely set down the mail and hooked the leash to her red collar. Jean had previously picked out a pink one, but Logan insisted that he couldn’t walk a “sissy lookin’ mutt” around the park like that, so she relented. But Daisy was still his girl.

The park was crowded. Logan narrowly avoided two boys skateboarding and hogging up the pavement. He nodded to a gang of moms diligently doing their “strollercise” in dowdy sweats and biking shorts. Most of them gave him approving glances, waving to him with left hands whose ring fingers were conspicuously bare.

“Still got it,” he muttered to himself. Daisy whined at him, wanting to pick up the pace. She nearly wrapped him around a telephone pole, two senior citizens and a balloon vendor.

“Hey!” he cried. “Down, girl! Slow down!”

He was just catching his breath and tying his shoe when she took advantage of his posture. She galloped off. Logan looked up and saw her plush tail wagging furiously. She launched herself at a tall, unsuspecting jogger.

“Shit!” he hissed.

“Whoa! Down, baby, giddown, now!”

“Remy?” Logan asked incredulously.


	7. Day Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beaches at sunrise. Carefully laid plans. And the best possible company for both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone reading and enjoying this fic. I love hearing from you. I know this story might not have much readership for how massive this site is, so I appreciate anyone who even clicks on it. Take care.

“Kid, I’m so sorry.” Logan was mortified at his dog’s behavior as she continued to skip and leap at Remy, slobbering and panting all over him. “Daisy, down!” Logan’s command was imperious and brooked no bullshit. The dog whined, whistling in her throat, but she did as she was told. Daisy sat, but still thumped her tail on the ground. 

Remy chuckled and knelt by the dog once he got his bearings. He cocked his head slightly sideways and held out his hand for her to sniff. She licked his fingers and nudged him with her cold, damp nose. Remy gave in and beckoned her to come closer for more decadent scratches and tousling of her lush blonde fur.

“She’s sweet,” Remy murmured. “Aren’tcha, baby girl?” he crooned, making kissy faces for her benefit.

“Yer gonna spoil her.”

“Who couldn’t spoil a princess like dis?”

She’d actually knocked Remy down, and knocked the wind out of him in the process. Logan registered shock at his dog’s bad manners shortly before he recognized Remy as her chosen target.

“Don’t know why she did that.”

“Wanted t’say hello, Remy’d guess.”

“She knows better.” But Daisy was sprawling beside Remy in the grass, where he was content to stretch his legs. Daisy was shamelessly flirting with him, continuing to bat at him with her paw and laying her head in his lap. “Hussy,” Logan accused.

“She’s jus’ a soft touch. Me, too, if ya wanna be honest, homme.”

“We rescued her from the pound as a pup. She was gorgeous.”

“I like her freckle,” Remy mentioned, gently stroking the small white spot on the dog’s forehead. “An’ dese red eyelashes.”

“Typical of a golden lab.”

“Nice t’see ya out an’ about.”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“What, walkin’ de pooch?”

“Nah. Yeah. Kinda. Exercise. And just gettin’ outta the house in general. Said it might help.”

“Might help, huh?” Remy didn’t dig into the reasons why. “Den g’wan ahead an’ follow doctor’s orders, mec. Great day t’take a woman out? Ain’t it, mon Coeur?” he crooned again, ruffling her ears.

“Gads. Yer worse than Jeannie,” Logan remarked before he could stop himself. He swallowed his own smile and pretended to watch a few college kids playing ultimate Frisbee.

“So now, it’s jus’ de two of ya?”

“Yeah.” Logan watched him then. Saw him. Remy looked both vital and vibrant, hair slightly tousled from his run and picking up more highlights from the summer sun. His skin was flushed and tanned, emphasizing his lean muscles exposed by the navy blue tank and black shorts. 

“Good t’ing ya have a lil’ time t’give her some attention, den. Dogs need it.”

“I work long hours at the store, sometimes,” Logan admitted guiltily. “It ain’t fair ta her.”

“Ain’t fair t’you, either, mec.”

“I manage. I like to work.”

“How d’ya normally like t’play?” Remy’s eyes twinkled.

“Hard, once upon a time. Way back when, I had more guy friends ta just hang around with. Played basketball every weekend, and a mudball game every Thanksgiving.”

“Mudball?” Remy raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Football, usually on the first rainy day of late fall. Love gettin’ dirty,” Logan grinned.

“Remy kin see dat ‘bout ya, somehow,” he agreed. “Like doin’ stuff wit’ yer hands?”

“Heck, yeah. It just feels good. I’m not creative, but I like to see things come together.”

“Ya don’ smile much, do ya?”

“Ya think?” Logan shrugged. “Ain’t somethin’ I think about or just ‘plan out.’ When it happens, it happens.” He was so matter-of-fact about it that Remy sighed.

“Maybe ya oughta do it more often.”

“Eh.”

“Jus’ because.”

“Still ain’t gonna win me any beauty contests,” Logan pointed out.

“Depends on who’s doin’ de judgin’.” Remy looked at him meaningfully. His gaze seemed to eat him up. Daisy whined for him to give her more affection, which he obliged.

She wasn’t the only one he wanted to caress.

“So when d’ya usually get yer exercise?”

“Whenever I haul my butt outta the house,” Logan confessed.

“What’s yer routine like when ya ain’t at work?”

“When ain’t I at work?” Logan mused, tossing the question back at him. But Remy was serious. “Eh. Really? Well…it ain’t much of a routine. More of a rut. I run errands. I take Daisy for a short walk, or I just let her out into the backyard, since I have a relatively big one for her. Been meanin’ ta spend more time at the park. But beyond that…it’s all a big nothin’.”

“Naw. Not you,” Remy argued. He wouldn’t believe it.

“Yeah. Me. I just don’t know how ta fill my time anymore. Sometimes…I just wish the time away. I never mean to. It just happens. Day in. Day out. I forgot what it was like t’have somethin’ ta look forward to. Somethin’ ta plan for. So I go home. Eat dinner. Check my email. Watch the news. Wonder if the phone is gonna ring an’ not be a telemarketer. Most of my friends that I had before Jeannie passed were ‘our’ friends.” He made air quotes. “After I ended up alone, all of the sudden, no one knew what t’say. They called for a while. Invited me ta lunch every now and again, or the occasional holiday dinner t’make sure I had somewhere t’go. But it’s hard. I know what’s goin’ through their heads. I ain’t one half of a pair anymore.” He didn’t look sad so much as resigned. Logan leaned back on the heels of his hands. He closed his eyes as a cool breeze ruffled their hair, and Remy noticed in that instant how tired he looked. There were faint shadows under his eyes.

“How ya sleepin’?”

“Some nights, I don’t.”

“Ever considered gettin’ up earlier?”

“Why?”

“Mornin’ run?”

“Not really. Never thought about it.”

“Life don’ hafta jus’ begin at eight an’ end at five, chere. C’mon. Head out wit’ me. We’ll hit de beach.”

“They won’t let Daisy out there, even if she’s on a leash.”

“Den we work around dat.”

“I don’t wanna deprive her!”

“Non. Ya ain’t. No excuses,” Remy nagged, wagging his finger. That twinkle was back in his eye. “We run in de mornin’. An’ ya take Miz Daisy here on her walk at night. Betta yet…Remy’ll do it.”

“Get outta here. Really? Ya wanna walk my dog?” His brows drew together, and he gave Remy a crooked smile.

“Oui. We fast friends already, ain’t we, chere?” Daisy was sprawled over his lap in an absolute stupor. She thumped her tail and lifted her head toward Logan, as if to say “Can we, Daddy? Can we?”

“Get offa work at t’ree,” he continued. “Prob’ly earlier den you.”

“Yeah. I get off at five.”

“Puppy’s gotta get lonely. Remy don’ have any evenin’ commitments, ‘cept a class he teaches every now an’ again at de community college, or when he has a showin’.”

“Sounds like yer pretty busy, then. And ya think yer gonna have time ta still walk Daisy, eh?”

“C’mon. Fair trade. Ya run wit’ me, I walk yer sweet puppy.”

“Hm. Eh. Why not?”

“Ya got Remy’s number. Call me at dawn.”

*

**Dawn, the next day:**

“Gotta be outta my fuckin’ mind,” Logan muttered as he scrubbed his hands over his face and rolled up to a sitting position. His sheets were still warm from sleep, and he laid awake for several long, indecisive minutes after slapping the button on his alarm.

Coffee. Everything would make more sense after a cup of coffee. Every muscle and joint in his body protested as he rose, complaining to him as he ambled into the kitchen.

His house was filled with that eerie, pre-dawn, bluish darkness that picked out the edges and gleaming surfaces of his furniture and picture frames. The hardwood floor felt cool beneath his feet. Daisy’s head popped up and she wagged her tail.

“Want breakfast, girl? ‘Course ya do. C’mon.” She padded beside him into the kitchen, and he blinked from the glare as he turned on the light over the sink. He felt momentary guilt; his first outing with Remy wouldn’t include her. She’d sense that, and it made Logan feel like a bad parent. He retrieved a large, half-full bag of kibble and shook some into her bowl and refreshed her water dish. She was already nosing at the food, tentatively munching a few dry morsels as he opened a can of wet food and scooped a bit out for her to give her meal a boost.

Logan made the coffee strong, with bite, knowing his stomach would regret it later, but he needed something to clear the cobwebs out of his head. He filled his Far Side mug two-thirds full and contemplated his refrigerator’s offerings before deciding, Naaaahhhh.

The phone beckoned to him. Remy’s business card was thumbtacked to the bulletin board beside it, mingled among several others for more mundane services like car detailing, house cleaning and windshield repair. There were still notes scrawled in Jean’s curly handwriting that he left there for comfort.

He heard her voice in his thoughts, urging him. _Go on. Give him a call. What could it hurt?_ Logan sighed, drawing a cleansing breath into his lungs.

He gripped the handset and punched the digits with the index finger of the same hand, still feeling uncoordinated and off-balance due to the earliness of the hour.

One ring. Two-

No. Half. Kid was quick.

“Dis Remy.”

“Hey.”

“Bon jour, homme. Wakey, wakey, eggs an’ baky,” he drawled. Logan heard the smile in his voice and almost wanted to smack him.

“S’too early for perky, bub.”

“Remy ain’ perky,” he argued. “It’s jus’ a beautiful morning’, non?”

“It’s still nighttime, in my book. Still dark outside.”

“Not f’r long, mec. Ya ready t’roll?”

“Gimme a few more minutes. Which beach?”

“Wood Neck.”

“I was hopin’ ya’d say that.” That pacified Logan; out of the town’s seven public beaches, that one was his favorite, both for its generous parking and its sand bar.

“It’s nippy out. Dress in layers.”

“Be there in ten.”

“Up an’ at ‘em,” Remy warned him. They hung up. Logan cradled the phone and gulped his brew, shaking his head.

_Up an’ at ‘em, sport_ , Jean’s voice echoed. The memory of her teasing smile followed him back to his bedroom.

*

Remy beat Logan there. That didn’t surprise Logan. As he pulled into the lot, he saw Remy stretching, balancing himself using a fence post and bending his leg back. He caught his sneaker heel and tugged, stretching his long, lean quad. He hadn’t noticed Logan yet, so he treated himself to a long look at the kid.

_Beautiful_.

Logan wasn’t a fanciful man and didn’t use pretty words, consider himself romantic or walk around with his head in the clouds. He was pragmatic, a real straight-shooter.

But watching Remy made him long to…what?

He couldn’t describe it, not in easy terms. So he just watched him. The breeze kicked up, stirring up sand devils over the lot’s gravel, and it ruffled Remy’s hair and lightweight red windbreaker.

Those strange feelings pricked at him again. It was like walking past a cabinet that held a half-eaten bag of potato chips, knowing how good they’ll taste, but avoiding them because they are bad for you. But you still think about them, mouth watering at the tactile memory of their light, crispy weight on your tongue, their dusting of salt caressing your lips, seasoning the leftover hint of grease, followed by the seductive crunch as you cram in one handful after another until, surprise, they’re gone.

But you avoid them as long as you can. Partaking of them only brings remorse. You tell yourself that you should have known better. Why buy the chips at all? Immediate gratification isn’t healthy. You can’t resist their temptation, their decadent appeal. How could you, when they’re so appealingly packaged and taste like sin?

The cabinet door is the only thing keeping them from you, an ineffective, useless barrier. You won’t stop thinking of them until you taste them. Just one, you promise. That’s all. Just a taste…

_Just a taste…_

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. 

What was he doing?

It was unsettling, the way he reacted whenever he saw him, talked to him. Frissons of nervousness and anticipation shivered in his stomach. He wasn’t used to such directness, or to someone so blatantly trying to draw him out.

He’d been with Jean so long, taking her love so much for granted, that Logan couldn’t believe someone else would…well, look for whatever it was Remy had in mind. That he’d see Logan that way. Through those eyes.

He wanted to ask him “Why me?” But the voice in the back of his head said “Why not you?”

Logan shifted the car into park and locked it, checking his reflection briefly in the rear view. Despite his coffee, his eyes still bore dark shadows under them. But in the meantime, he’d do.

Remy’s face lit up as he caught sight of him. He wasn’t entirely surprised when the young man hugged him again, and he felt more of that pleasant tingle from the previous ones. Logan didn’t want to be presumptuous, and he was still wary about what he could want from him, but he decided he could grow used to this. Remy’s body felt warm beneath the thin, cool fabric of his jacket. Logan flushed awkwardly and gently pulled away. Remy gave him a brief, curious look, then clapped his shoulder fondly.

“Ready an’ rearin’ t’go?”

If the hug was disconcerting, hearing another of Jean’s favorite phrases was even more so.

“Oh, yeah. Bring it on.”

“Ain’t gonna go too easy on ya, homme. Remy likes t’run, an’ I mean ‘run.’” He gave the word solid emphasis. Logan already felt the knot of anticipation gather in his gut.

“Don’t suppose ya have a defibrillator and a few EMTs standin’ by?”

“Cute,” Remy chuckled, clapping him again.

After a few more stretches – Logan was surprised at how much his muscles even protested that range of motion – they started out. The sand shifted beneath them, yielding to their scraping footfalls. Gulls screeched as they dive-bombed the surf and scavenged from the large green trash barrels for their breakfast. Overhead the sky began to lighten from indigo to sapphire, letting pink fingertips paint the clouds.

The wind buffeted them, refuting Logan’s efforts to keep up with Remy, but he persevered. The cool air felt crisp as he sucked it into his lungs, feeding his muscles with oxygen.

“Dis’ll put color in yer cheeks, neh?”

“Shit,” Logan huffed, but he nodded in agreement. Remy grinned.

They silently counted segments of each mile every time they passed a jetty, then switched to counting beach houses by ten. Logan’s breathing was ragged, and he felt the burn of splints starting in his shins.

“Roll yer feet, mec. Don’ push off too much from yer toes.”

“Gonna…keep…that…in…mind,” he gasped. “Make sure…it says…I died…rolling my feet…on my…friggin’…tombstone.” Remy’s bark of laughter made him want to smack him.

“In t’rough de nose, out t’rough de mouth,” he suggested kindly. “Just like when ya lift weights. Dat’s it.” Logan’s arms weren’t pumping as firmly before; he could almost call it flailing, but he continued on. He wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to disappoint the kid…

…or himself.

The wind shifted, seeming to lose its sadistic urge to blow Logan knock him on his ass. It blew at their backs now, pushing them along. He felt relieved as Remy, too, sensed this.

“Lookin’ good, homme,” he rumbled. “Real good. Look at dat.” He pointed to the sky. “Sun’s up.

It was worth the wait, worth the pain and exhaustion to watch the waves come to new life as the rising sun sprinkled them with golden diamonds. The tide rolled in with force, crashing against the shore and leaving behind sand that shone like glass. Remy and Logan adjusted their trail, pushing themselves away from the damp line before their shoes could sink into it.

“How ya holdin’ up?”

Logan wheezed a reply. His face spoke volumes. Remy tsked.

“Coulda said somet’in’ any time, homme.” They slowed to a crawl; Logan fought the urge to simply collapse. He staggered, breath hitching in gulps from his chest.

“Shit,” he wheezed.

“Take it easy. Walk it off. Dat’s it, keep movin’.” Logan found himself trembling slightly as the strength left his limbs, but he remained on his feet, swinging his arms as if to pump more oxygen to his starved lungs. His throat was parched.

“C’mon. Store right up de block,” Remy encouraged. Logan felt slightly reassured to find that Remy’s face wasn’t a perfect mask anymore, now flushed and dripping perspiration. His hair was damp around his temples and brow; he impatiently raked it back with his fingers, leaving his brown waves a tousled wreck.

The sight of him like that evoked other images that Logan tried to keep from his own face.

“Don’ run much?”

“Not…like this. Been a while. Get my cardio from stuff like the bikes at the gym, or an elliptical, when I get off my ass an’ go. Like liftin’ better. Works me out without wearin’ me out.”

“Daisy’s de best cardio y’can get fo’ de money.”

“That’s what my doc said.”

“Dat’s why he’s de doctor.” Logan snorted and swatted him. Remy chuckled, swatting him back.

“Non. Ya didn’ do too badly, homme. Gon’ get better ev’ry time we go.”

Logan stared at him blankly.

“Ya mean we gotta do this again??”

 

Remy wasn’t finished torturing him. They mercifully stopped at a convenience store and picked up two bottles of Fiji to fortify themselves. Remy suggested jogging back using the pavement instead, to see if Logan would benefit from less of the shift in terrain, but it seemed to backfire. The impact was more jarring on hard asphalt, even though they did cover more ground more quickly as they headed back toward the lot.

Logan watched incredulously as Remy lifted his foot, propping it against a fence rail before he removed a small strap from his ankle that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Five miles. Not too bad.”

“Ya knew we were runnin’ that far?”

“Nice, easy run.”

“Nice, easy run,” Logan muttered. “Ya’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“Non.” He showed him the tiny pedometer. The digital numbers showed him that they’d actually traveled five and a quarter miles.

“That wasn’t nice. And that definitely wasn’t easy.”

“But admit it, ya feel great. Don’t ya. C’mon, tell me how much better ya feel, mec.” Remy watched him expectantly, mischief dancing in his eyes.

…hadn’t the kid once mentioned that he was training for a triathlon??

“You. Little. Bastard.” Logan felt like he’d been had.

He’d anticipated a mile. Maybe two. _Shit._

“S’nice an’ warm out now,” Remy added as he shucked the windbreaker. “C’mon.”

“I can’t move.”

“Sure ya can. Last one in’s a rotten egg.” In an instant, he kicked off his sneakers, peeled off his socks and wriggled out of his canvas warmup pants and tank. He trotted down to the shoreline.

“It’s gotta be freezin’!” Logan sputtered. “Don’t do it!”

“Buck-BOCK! Chicken!” Remy teased, turning one last time to face him. “C’mon,” he beckoned.

“Ya go ahead without me, kid.”

“Suit yerself!” he called out, and Remy ran into the surf in one, two, three, four long strides. He dove into a large breaker on the fifth and disappeared. The air was certainly warm, but the wind was still strong, and Logan knew that water couldn’t be more than tepid, at best. The sun barely had the chance to touch it.

Logan tsked under his breath, and he felt relieved as he saw Remy’s shining dark hair resurface. His arms cut neatly through the water as he back-stroked.

He called back to Logan. “Hey, mec…Remy’s keys are in de pocket. Grab me a towel from de trunk?”

“Got it.” At least the kid thought ahead. He ignored the lump of Remy’s wallet and found the cool metal keys. He still felt stiff and limp as he made his way to Remy’s Camry, but there was a new energy coursing through him. Logan felt more awake and alert, and the rest of his day held promise.

He found the neatly folded red beach towel and a clean tee shirt. Logan briskly slammed the trunk and headed back to the sand. He was content to gulp his Fiji and relax, removing his own jacket, shoes and socks.

Remy swam for a while, content with the caress of the water against him and the taste of salt on his lips. He paused briefly, treading deep water. Remy watched Logan as he sat, leaning back on the heels of his hands and closing his eyes. He chuckled, wondering if he’d worn him out or subjected him to too much.

The morning was too beautiful not to share with someone. Remy felt a pang as he realized the last time that he actually had shared one like this. The water buoyed him, pulling at him. He knew he risked overtaxing himself and succumbing to the lapping waves while he was so far out from shore. Remy wisely headed back to the beach. His snug neoprene thermal shorts clung to him even more tightly once they were wet. He knew they’d be the devil to take off, but it was worth it. His swim had been decadent.

Water ran down his body in runnels, dripping from his hair as he emerged. Wet sand squished between his bare toes as he made his way back to Logan. He shook his hair like a wet dog.

“Hey!” Logan barked, flinching as cold droplets showered him. “PUNK!”

“Figured if ya didn’ wanna come in wit’ Remy, Remy’d bring de water t’you, cher.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” he muttered, balling up the folded towel and tossing it in his grinning face. Logan turned away slightly, suddenly too conscious of how close Remy stood, and how bare he was.

Wet. Flushed with color and health. Nearly naked. All of those factors taxed Logan’s ability to think chaste, albeit conflicted thoughts. Remy scrubbed his nape with the towel, watching Logan thoughtfully.

“Ya holdin’ up all right? How ya feel?”

“Whipped.”

“Used ya up already?”

“Goes without sayin’.”

“Speak up next time, if it’s hurtin’ you, mec.”

“Don’t know how many next times we’re lookin’ at, bub.”

“Aw…don’ give up dat easily, chere! We jus’ gettin’ started. Dis de beginnin’ of a beautiful friendship!”

“Friends don’t kill friends.”

“Remy could take dat ta mean either of two t’ings,” he pondered. He elbowed Logan. “C’mon. Call me in de mo’nin. Tell me how y’feel. Den maybe ya’ll wanna come wit’ Remy again.” He sank to the sand beside him and wrapped the towel around his neck, letting the ends dangle over his bare belly. “Feels good out here. Dis is how ya should always start de day.”

“Ready t’crawl back into bed?”

“Non. Wit’ someone around t’see what you see. When we can have de whole sun t’ourselves.” He raised his Fiji bottle in a salute. Logan toasted him with a light tap of his.

 

*

Logan actually did feel better.

His legs would never forgive him for subjecting them to such punishment, but all day long he felt recharged and refreshed.

“You look more rested,” she remarked.

“Can’t imagine why. Got up early. Ran my ass off.”

“Good for you,” she encouraged, surprised.

“Ain’t good fer my poor piggies,” he argued. “Need new shoes if I’m gonna keep that up.”

“Get some Asics. I like New Balance, too.”

“Sounds good. Might just do that.”

“Are you staying late tonight?”

“Why tonight?”

“Inventory? Have you forgotten?”

“Aw, shit.” He had. Logan pawed through his tiny desk calendar and noticed he hasn’t flipped to the current date for a couple of weeks. Sure enough, there it was, scrawled in bold black Sharpie.

“Is it a problem?”

“Guess not. Just wasn’t planning for it. Yeah, we’ll do it. That’s fine.”

“Good. Let’s get it over with. Sure you didn’t have any prior plans?”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

It didn’t hit him until two hours later that he’d forgotten one more important detail.

“Remy!” he hissed, smacking himself in the temple. Betsy looked up from her desk, cocking her head.

“What?”

“I mean…uh, never mind. I have a call t’make, darlin’.” Logan got up from his ergonomic chair and headed for the break room, even though his aching thighs protested the shift in position.

He spoke furtively into his cell when Remy finally picked up.

“What’s goin’ on, cher?” he drawled.

“Um. Yeah. Gonna end up bein’ home later than I planned, kid. Inventory.”

“Oui?”

“Yup. There ya have it.”

“Den what time d’ya want Remy ta take Daisy out?”

“I was thinking maybe we could put it off for tonight.”

“Ya sure? Don’ hafta worry ‘bout Remy. Gon’ take good care of yer best girl.”

“Don’t wanna trouble ya.”

“Ain’ no trouble. No trouble at all.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

“Remy’ll lock up when he brings her back.”

“Seriously.”

“Oui.”

“All right, then. S’fine with me. Stop on by when ya have a minute, kid.” Logan felt a hint of satisfaction that he’d see him again so soon, even if it was only briefly.

“Sounds like me an’ Daisy have a date.” 

Even after Logan hung up, he felt that same, odd little bubble of anticipation.

Remy showed up slightly after three, while Logan was closing a sale.

“Enjoy it,” he told the couple as they walked out.

“It’ll go so well with everything we already have.”

“Thanks a heap, buddy. This was the fifth store we went to today. I was praying it would be the last.” Logan waved them out the door, then felt eyes on his back. He turned to find Remy watching him. His dark eyes raked over him with something akin to appreciation.

“Clean up nice, once ya wash off de sand, non?”

“Betsy tries to keep me civilized.”

“I still can’t get him to eat with utensils,” she piped up suddenly, craning her head around the back doorway when she heard her name. She winked at Remy. He winked back.

“Just admit it’s a losin’ battle, darlin’,” Logan chided her.

“Never,” she sniffed. “I won’t concede defeat.” Logan dug in his pockets and produced his keys. He dropped them into Remy’s outstretched palm.

“Gold key lets ya in the front door. Daisy’ll come to ya as soon as ya walk in.”

“All right.”

“Rem…thanks. I appreciate it. I know I sound like a lousy dog owner if I hafta have someone else come an’ keep my pup company.”

“Non. Ya sound like a daddy smart ‘nuff ta hire a sitter ta take care of his pride an’ joy.” Remy looked like he was about to close the gap between them, possibly for another hug, but he noticed Betsy watching and simply tossed the keys in the air, catching them deftly.

“All right. Don’t the two of ya do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Ya won’t hafta post bail. This time.” Remy whistled a cheerful tune on his way out, taking the memory of Logan’s laughter with him.

*

The last thing Logan expected was the smell of Mexican food.

He caught a whiff of onions and beef from the front door as he trotted up the brick steps and dug under the mat for the spare key. Remy’s car was there, but he didn’t lock it. Logan replaced the key, walking inside slowly.

“Rem?” he called out. “Ya here?”

Daisy appeared in a flurry of reddish blonde fur and her claws scraped against the hard wood as she greeted her daddy. “Someone’s happy,” Logan murmured, accepting her damp kisses. But like a shot, she was off again, darting into the living room. “Fickle much?” he wondered aloud as he followed her.

The living room lamp was on instead of the overhead light. Remy dozed peacefully on the couch, long legs stretched out. He was in his bare feet, and his toes twitched slightly, perhaps at the sound of Logan’s approach.

He indulged himself, staring at him. Odd sensations pulled at him, and he still couldn’t make sense of them.

The kid was far too appealing in repose like that. His head was tipped slightly back, and his breathing indicated the beginnings of deep slumber.

Logan’s hands clenched, then relaxed as he made up his mind.

“Rem?” He reached down and gently poked his shoulder. “Remy?”

“Hnnnh…”

“Rem? I’m back.”

“Non,” he argued hoarsely.

“Yeah. I am. I can take it from here.” He gave him a gentle shake, then restrained himself from letting his hand linger. His heat radiated through the thin, snug tee shirt and his muscle felt lean, firm and supple. Logan didn’t want to get too familiar.

It was just so surreal, having him in his house.

“Whuzzup…oh. H’lo, chere.” Remy cracked open his eyes and smiled blearily up at him.

Logan flushed sharply, skin tingling at that expression…it was like waking up next to Jean. Remy yawned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Logan moved back stiffly. Remy mistook his discomfiture for fatigue.

“Sorry, mec. Remy wuz out like a light soon as he sat down.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Made ya sumt’in.”

“I noticed. Ya didn’t have ta go to the trouble.”

“Ain’t no trouble. Told ya before. T’ought ya’d be hungry.”

“Starvin’ like Marvin,” Logan admitted.

“Den come an’ eat. I’ll get outta here in a sec, jus’ wanna show ya where I left ev’ryt’in.” Logan followed him toward the source of the delicious smells. Remy lifted the lid off a large skillet of shredded beef, one quarter of it gone.

“Already ate, maself,” he told him. “Fed yer girl, too.” Daisy sat and thumped her tail, looking smug. Logan wondered if she tasted Remy’s dinner at some point, too.

“Looks good.” Remy pulled two tiny Tupperware dishes from the fridge and opened them, revealing some chopped lettuce, tomatoes and onions. 

“I’m gonna get outta yer hair,” Remy announced before Logan could ponder whether to invite Remy to stay a while. He looked at home in his kitchen as he got out a fork and plate and set them on the table. Remy unrolled a couple of paper towels from the spool and folded them like a napkin beside the other items and automatically poured Logan a glass of iced tea from the pitcher he already had.

“Gimme a call in de mo’nin,” Remy reminded him as he tugged on his sandals.

“We’ll see,” Logan murmured as he tasted a bit of beef. It was spicy, rich with chili powder and jalapenos.

Remy snorted. “None o’ dis ‘we’ll see’ stuff. C’mon, now!”

Logan relented. “Okay. Ya got me. One more time,” he promised, holding up his index finger.

“Dat’s de spirit. Gon’ come aroun’, Remy’s gonna wear you down, chere. Pretty soon, ain’ gonna be a day where ya don’ wanna go runnin’ out on de beach. An’ who could blame ya, when ya have yers truly ta keep ya goin, non?”

“Pretty sure of yerself,” Logan said, rubbing his nape. The food tempted him, but he didn’t want to sit down yet. The brief silence between them hung in the air. Daisy got up and nosed Remy’s hand. “How was she?”

“Perfect lady. Didn’ drag me once.”

“Glad ya hear it.”

“Don’ mind Remy askin…?”

“Shoot.”

“Busy on Friday night?”

“Uh…I dunno. Not sure yet.”

Remy reached into his pocket and handed him a small blue postcard. “Save dis. It’s a showin’ at a gallery downtown. Put up some new pieces dere. It’s gonna benefit the gallery and a few o’ter local art programs.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“T’anks for the vote o’ confidence,” Remy said, rolling his eyes.”

“I don’t know yet, but I wouldn’t mind it, if I get there.” Remy looked expectant but not disappointed, to Logan’s relief.

“Dat’s fine, den.” Logan slowly walked past him toward the hallway. Remy followed him, and Logan heard the low jingle of keys. He didn’t realize how close behind him Remy stood until he opened the front door.

He bumped into him as he turned around, then flinched, unable to stop himself. Remy furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I do sum’t’in’ wrong, homme?”

“Nuh-uh. Nah. Ya didn’t…” Logan’s voice trailed off.

How could he even explain it?

The answer was, he couldn’t. Logan still had too many questions himself, for himself.

Remy held his hand out, palm up. Logan’s keys winked up at him. “Gonna need dese,” he reminded him.

“Yeah.”

Remy took in the stiff set of his shoulders and the tension around his mouth. Everything about him said “Back off.” Remy felt slightly rebuffed, wondering if he’d missed some earlier clues.

The urge to embrace him was still so instinctive, so strong, but Remy squelched it. He settled for patting Logan’s shoulder awkwardly and letting himself out.

Both men contemplated the events of the day throughout the night once they separated. 

Remy wondered what he did wrong.

Logan realized that the overpowering urge he felt at his front door could only indicate one thing: 

_He’d almost kissed Remy goodnight._


	8. A Work of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan gets to know Remy better through his craft, and through his heartache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a diversion from this fic to work on Thrill is Gone, and I would like to extend my thanks to Lady E, who gave me helpful questions to re-confirm what I want to do with that story.

Black was the new black.

Everywhere Logan looked as he entered the gallery, he saw black. It was like attending Jean’s funeral all over again, minus the altar flowers and pulpit. The patrons ranged from middle-aged art snobs to nineteen-year-olds fresh out of design school going through their “boho” phase. Logan almost felt out of place in his coffee brown slacks and cream-colored guayabera shirt. His leather dress shoes resounded more noisily than he would have liked against the gallery’s hardwood floors as he ventured from one display to the next.

Logan overheard a girl in Raggedy Ann stockings discussing a homely nude study with a straight face to a young man with facial piercings and a Mohawk. She gave the artist entirely too much credit. 

_It really is in the eye of the beholder. Damn, that thing’s ugly._ Logan peered at the signature in the lower right corner. _A. Frost_. He peeked at his program for the show and scanned the list of featured artisans. Halfway down, he spied the name and brief bio of Adrienne Frost, local painter. She was a striking woman and had a master’s in fine art. Logan clucked his tongue; maybe her specialty was art history…

Logan politely accepted a glass of wine from the steward, also garbed in – surprise – black from head to toe.

“We’re serving additional refreshments in the rear lounge,” he offered.

“Thanks. Hey,” Logan said, stopping him. “Be honest. Whaddya think of that one?” He nodded to the nude.

“Oh. Wow.” He looked flummoxed, stepping back from the painting as though it would give him cooties. Logan smirked.

“Glad it isn’t just me.”

“Trust me, it isn’t.” The steward then turned and nodded toward the left wing. “Head that way. There’s some gorgeous stuff by this one guy, LeBeau. He draws, he paints, he takes pictures. He’s frickin’ awesome.”

“He is, huh?” It was Logan’s moment of truth. “Thanks for the tip, kid.”

Despite his misgivings, fate seemed to be pushing him in Remy’s direction. All that was left was for Logan to figure out what to do when he got to his destination…

Logan wandered through the crowd, perusing the neat rows of framed words and a few life-size sculptures. Low violin music underscored the buzz of chatter around him, and Logan felt surprisingly relaxed.

They ran together twice more since their first excursion to the beach. Logan begged off for the last two trips, falling martyr to shin splints. But Remy showed up every evening, as promised, to take Daisy for her walks, leaving Logan’s spare keys under the mat. Logan assumed Remy was showing up earlier; whether it was for Daisy’s benefit or because he felt off-kilter like Logan did was anyone’s guess.

It was frustrating.

He missed Remy whenever he didn’t see him, but he seemed to tap dance around it whenever they were together. And it was growing harder to pretend he didn’t feel…something.

Compelling and frightening. Those were the only words he could use to describe the flush that settled over him when Remy looked at him and gave him that lopsided smile, or the way Logan’s mouth seemed to run on autopilot whenever they spoke.

Logan wanted to explore those feelings. He just didn’t have any idea where to start.

The further he ventured into the wing, the more he began to recognize Remy’s work. 

“Damn,” Logan muttered. “Kid’s been busy.”

The compositions were stunning.

The Cajun’s sketchbook was only the tip of the iceberg. Logan stood in awe as he let his eyes travel over a huge study of a Roman Catholic church and the surrounding garden rendered in charcoal and Grumbacher pastels. The piece was rich with warm colors; even the shadows managed not to look flat. The scene seemed to have movement, as though Remy had captured a mid-afternoon breeze and drifting clouds. The piece was roped off to prevent curious critics from touching the fragile pastel.

One by one, Logan visited each work, taking in the small details that took genius to capture so well.

His works were grouped together by medium. Remy’s exhibit included six poster-sized black and white photo studies, several pastels and four paintings done in oils. Logan recognized the strip of beach where they took their morning runs. Sunlight poured like a river of honey across the waves at dawn; the water was dotted with red and white buoys and gulls cackled and swarmed in the distance.

The photographs were handsomely backlit, suspended away from the walls for a more dramatic, solid effect. They took what was left of his breath away.

Each one focused on a slender young man. Even in black and white print, Logan could tell his eyes were a clear light blue. He was striking and memorable, built on long, clean lines, like a dancer. 

Upon closer inspection, Logan noticed that his face was slightly drawn, skin stretched almost too taut across his high cheekbones. He had thick, wavy black hair with prominent streaks of white over his brow and threaded through his temples, surprising since he didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Fine laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and slightly full mouth, even though most of his poses were sober.

The last one gave Logan pause. Remy’s model was lying back in bed, half-propped on several pillows. He captured him reading the paper, a mundane enough thing, but Logan notice a plastic hospital identification bracelet on his wrist. The tiny print told him that he had been discharged roughly eight months prior.

“Logan?” Before he could even turn toward the sound of his voice, Remy gently closed his hand over Logan’s shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze. “M’so glad ya made it, and dat ya took de trouble t’come an’ see my showing. M’honored.” When he faced him, Logan saw the sincere gratitude in Remy’s dark eyes and a sweet smile that seemed to remove years from his face. Pleasure tickled his gut that something so simple as showing up could produce a smile like that.

“Remy, I wouldn’t miss it.” Without further greeting, Logan surprised him with a snug, solid hug. Remy chuckled, pleased.

“So, whaddya t’ink?”

“Do ya hafta even ask? They’re freakin’ amazing. Every damned one of ‘em. Ya were holdin’ out on me. All I got t’see were yer sketches before.”

“Dose were jus’ de appetizers. Dese are de main course. Ya still haven’t seen Remy’s commercial work, but dese are my favorites. Dis ain’t what puts food on de table, but it is what makes it worth it t’get up in de mornin’.”

“Ya have a nice way with light,” Logan pointed out, nodding to the photo he liked. Remy looked wistful.

“He had a way of wrapping light around him without even trying. Every time I had him sit fo’ me, every frame, he owned dat light. It lit him up from de inside.” Logan heard the sad note in his tone. Even though Remy was smiling as he stared with Logan at the photo print, there was a deep yearning in him that felt familiar.

“Is he gone, Rem?”

“Oui.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul Beaubier. He wuz twenty-six. Too damn young t’be gone.” Remy cleared his throat. “Took a whole mess of pictures of him dose last coupla months. Most of dese were done when he wuz still well.” Before Remy could elaborate any further, two patrons assailed him and drew his attention away.

“I LOVE your work! Are any of these for sale?”

“Once de exhibit is over, chere. T’anks fo’ de kind words.”

“It’s amazing what you do with color.”

“Might wanna look into de classes at de junior college, petit. Teach one every month, little one-day seminars t’rough de extension school program.”

“I’m there, I’m totally there!” Then they handed him what looked like postcards like the one Remy had given Logan that night, along with a fine point Sharpie pen. Remy deftly signed the white backings, then did an impromptu sketch of each girl beside his heavily slanted signature.

“Perhaps Remy’ll see you two later dis evenin’ in de lounge. Go, have some treats, enjoy de show!” He fanned them away with his hands, giving them a charming smile to distract them from the fact that they were being dismissed. It worked; they stared after him as they left, comparing the postcards and making a big fuss over having “authentic signed art.”

“Ya probably get that a lot,” Logan accused.

“Eh. On a night like tonight, folks get t’meet the artists face t’face an’ hear us talk about de process or how our muses inspire us. Most of de time, Remy can sit in de coffeehouse wit’ his sketchbook out, an’ hardly anyone bothers him. It’s dese big pieces dat grab dere attention.” Remy eyed Logan’s empty glass. “Need anot’er one?”

“Nah. I might switch to water. Or maybe just eat somethin’, I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”

“Aw, ya didn’ grab a bite befo’ y’came, mec? Why didn’ y’tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna dawdle. Wanted t’show up early and get good parking before the crowd. And, uh…I wanted ta kinda make sure I caught ya before ya got swamped.” Logan cleared his throat. Remy chuckled, clapping him on the back.

“C’mon,” he beckoned, tugging Logan along by the wrist as they wove their way through the growing crowd. If Logan felt awkward at being clasped that closely or led behind him, he said nothing.

They turned the corner and head for the lounge. Logan saw two familiar faces seated at one of the tiny round tables. Mattie had a walking stick parked on her lap and sipped a glass of iced tea. Anna was making short work of a small plate of canapés. 

“Remy!” she squealed, hopping up from her seat. She hugged him tightly, trying to pull him into a silly little dance with her. Mattie tsked. Remy rolled his eyes and swatted her hands. “Bout time, shoog, ya just went off an’ left me an’ Mattie like we were…oh, hi, sugah, didn’t even see you! How’ve ya been?” Anna sidled up to Logan and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, automatically wiping away the smear of red lipstick.

“C’mon an’ give ol’ Mattie some sugar,” Mattie told him, waving him over. Logan smiled and dutifully bent to press a light peck on her soft cheek. “Don’tcha look nice, all gussied up! He cleans up nice, Remy!” Logan blushed but grinned. Anna’s shoulders shook.

“So whaddya think, Logan? Our Rem’s not doin’ too bad for himself. Once in a while he does more’n just stick figures.” Remy feigned irritation and pretended to smack Anna with his rolled-up show program. She thumbed her nose back.

“It’s fantastic.”

“So yer enjoyin’ yerself, baby?” Mattie inquired. 

“Definitely. I’m havin’ a ball.”

“Good. Then pull up a chair, Remy, both of ya siddown an’ act like y’enjoy our comp’ny. Don’ look so eager t’run off, I know how ya are,” she chided straight-faced, but she smiled with her eyes. Remy found two empty chairs, and she promptly clasped Logan’s wrist. “Take a load off, baby.” Logan found himself pulled down to sit beside her.

“Okey dokey. I’m sitting,” he promised. Logan had the feeling Mattie was that imperious with everyone.

“Still not off de hook yet, chere,” she said, waggling her finger at him. “Why haven’t y’come t’our house fer dinner?”

“Um…I guess I’ll put that on my to-do list.”

“List? Aw, honey, don’ worry ‘bout adding it ta a list. Show up on Thursday wit’ bells on. Gonna make catfish, hush puppies, dirty rice, okra and a peach pie.”

“I wanna come,” Anna whined, pouting.

“I didn’ say I wuz gonna let me girl starve,” Mattie sniffed. “Come, already, girl.”

“Yay,” Anna gloated.

“Then it’s a date?” Remy asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Come hungry,” Mattie said.

“Come REALLY hungry,” Anna corrected her.

They nibbled on the hors d’ouevres, which were barely enough to fill a hollow tooth. Logan chatted himself hoarse with the three of them.

Remy was in tempting proximity. He felt his warmth once in a while when their elbows would bump or knees would graze under the table, and it made little tingles run up his arms.

He turned to Logan after a moment. “How ya holdin’ up? Wanna see de rest of de exhibits?”

“Sure.”

“I might head on home, baby,” Mattie said. Her lids drooped slightly and a hint of fatigue crept into her voice. Anna was already up from her seat and coming around to help Mattie stand. Logan moved out of the way and helped, pulling her chair out of the way and handing her cane.

“T’anks, Tante,” Remy murmured, kissing her forehead and accepting her crushing hug.

“M’so proud of you,” she said. “G’wan. Show off a lil’ an’ enjoy it.”

“G’night, Rem. Gonna take Mattie home. Might head out later. Call me?”

“Probably,” he winked. Anna reached out and pinched him, hard. “OW! Quit it!”

“Then tell me you’ll call me. Pinkie swear,” she threatened. Remy rolled his eyes, then extended his pinkie. Logan huffed.

The women left them to their own devices. 

“Let’s head out fo’ a moment,” Remy said. “Wouldn’t mind a lil’ air.”

“That’s fine, Rem.” They headed for the second floor of the gallery, following the signs to the balcony. It was spacious and wide, wrapping around one entire corner of the building. The air smelled fresh compared to the faint odors of paint, dry clay and wood indoors.

Remy leaned against railing and stared down at the street. Logan stood beside him, roughly a foot of space between them.

Remy spoke first.

“I wuz wit’ Jean-Paul fo’ t’ree years. Met him at de hospital when I wuz goin’ ta one of my stress tests wit’ my cardiologist. Jean-Paul was higher up on de transplant list den me. He wuz in de solarium restin’ an’ doin’ a crossword puzzle. Took my breath away.”

“He’s a nice looking kid, Remy.”

“Knew we didn’t have much chance or time ‘tween us, but love don’ wait, not when life’s so damn short, homme. Dere wuz a coupla times dat he tol’ me, jus’ leave him. Don’ wait ‘round fo’ my heart t’be broken if he didn’ make it. Hurt so much, hearin’ him reachin’ de end of his hope.” Remy’s face was tranquil in the dark as he spoke. He seemed to step outside of himself, in an effort to distance himself from the pain, narrating it instead of reliving it. “He wuz so strong. Jean-Paul didn’ indulge any bullshit, eit’er. Told me ‘Shit or get off de pot, an’ ask me out already, asshole.’ Swept me off my feet.”

“He sounds great.”

“I wuz dere…the last night. His last night. Watched him go. He was peaceful. But me, I wanted t’die. All I could do was hold his hand. De machines told me he was gone. I laid my head on his chest ‘til I couldn’ feel his heart beatin’ anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Didn’ wanna live. Fo’ de first time in months, ever since I got sick, I didn’ wanna live when Jean-Paul left dis earth. Almost gave up. Mattie wuz dere fo’ me. Kept me goin’.”

“She’s a real treasure. Yer lucky ta have her.”

“I know.” He let his hands dangle over the railing as he propped himself on his elbows. He watched Logan intently. “Loved him very, very much. He showed me how. Never knew what it felt like t’love someone so completely befo’ Jean-Paul. He made ev’ryt’in make sense when I’d given up tryin’ t’understand my life anymore.”

They were silent for a while, listening to the noise from the street. Logan enjoyed the feel of the warm breeze ruffling his hair and shirt.

He wanted to ask Remy so much more.

Instead, he did the one thing that seemed impossible before that moment.

“Jeannie was a neat freak.” Remy watched him, staring at Logan’s profile as he stared at the stars. “The really organized kind. Coupon clipper, too. A friend of hers set us up. I almost cancelled at the last minute. Blind dates suck. But ours didn’t.” Logan sighed deeply, growing lost in the memory. “She was so beautiful. She just had this amazing smile and the kinda walk that makes people turn their heads. And when we met, she had this mischief in her eyes, the kind that makes ya wanna run off and get into trouble with her, because ya know ya’ll enjoy the ride. She let me take her to an action movie. She hated ‘em, but she wanted us t’have somethin’ ta talk about for most of the night without havin’ t’do the small talk thing. Who wouldn’t love that? Who wouldn’t love Jean.”

“I can see why ya did, Logan.”

“So it’s hard t’be without her.”

“Part of her’s still here wit’ you. In here.” Remy tapped his chest. “Dat’s where I carry Jean-Paul wit’ me. He lives on in me. Gets worse at night. Once in a while, I dream ‘bout him. How he was befo’ he got real sick. Feel empty when I wake up.”

“Yeah. You do,” Logan said. It grew hard to speak around the lump in his throat. In a stark moment of clarity, they met eyes and connected, understanding so much of what the other was feeling. Their past sorrow was poured from the same essence.

“I still wake up,” Remy murmured. “Dat’s all I can do.”

Logan sought shelter from it in Remy. Instinctively his hand crossed the invisible threshold between them and reached for him. Remy’s long, slim artist’s fingers wrapped around it; he stroked the pad of his thumb over the fine layer of dark hair on his skin, caressing him. Comforting him.

“Remy?”

“Yeah, chere?”

“If ya don’t mind my sayin’…I’m just…I’m glad you’re here.” He’d been staring at their linked hands, then shifted his gaze to Remy’s face. “I ain’t much for sayin’ what’s on my mind sometimes, or wordin’ it the way I mean to, but I mean that. I’m glad you’re here.”

Remy felt a current of contentment run through him, and something inside him melted that he didn’t know was there before.

Logan didn’t want to ruin it with discussion of the other things on his mind, but there was so much more that needed to be said.

“I only really knew how to love Jean. No one else measured up. I tried before, with someone else…it didn’t work out. He tried to tell me it didn’t mean anything, what we had. That it was just a game.”

“Den dey were de one playin’ de game,” Remy said. Logan unknowingly supplied the piece of the puzzle that Remy had been missing since they met. He felt equal parts reassured and frustrated on Logan’s behalf.

“I’m afraid,” Logan admitted. “I don’t know how ta explain it yet, Rem…I’m afraid.”

“Of what, chere?”

“Of…” Logan faltered. “I can’t. Not yet. I can’t talk about this yet.” He disengaged himself from Remy’s grip and backed away from the railing. Lines of frustration settled around Logan’s mouth. There was something pleading in Logan’s eyes, perhaps even helpless. 

“When ya are ready, ya can talk t’me.” Remy offered him that lopsided smile, the first he’d shown since they came outside. “I ain’ goin’ anywhere.”

Months before, that would have been a boastful statement.

Logan nodded. He patted Remy’s shoulder, but his hand lingered a moment before he turned to leave.


	9. Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan finds insight into what he’s lost and how to approach what he could gain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I hear Logan and Remy’s accents in my sleep, eventually, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
> 
> I’m imitating myself a bit in this chapter, since I used a similar plot device in one of my RoLo stories called “Rubbing Me the Wrong Way” out on the Realm a couple of years ago. But I’d rather imitate myself than steal from someone else.

Sometimes he still talked to her.

Logan nursed a cold Molson on the couch, stocking feet propped on the coffee table while he watched _Die Harder_ on cable.

Daisy lounged beside him, curled in a ball and laying her head in his lap. He reached down periodically to scratch her ears. He felt her contentment, but Logan was restless.

The gallery show still lingered on his mind, and Logan couldn’t forget the images of Jean-Paul lovingly captured in Remy’s photographs. There was something so compelling about those eyes. His regard for Remy came through in the photographs, even though he seemed to merely tolerate having his picture taken in some.

It was so clear to Logan that Remy lost the love of his life. That made the question of how to approach what he had with Remy…what he didn’t have with him yet…even more vague.

The feelings were frightening, because they were long forgotten, reawakened by his budding friendship with Remy.

_You’ve never been shy before about going after what you wanted._

If Logan closed his eyes, he could almost feel the faint heft of Jean’s head leaning against his shoulder in the dark and hear her light breathing, smell her shampoo.

_Things weren’t this complicated before._

_Who ever told you that you were complicated?_

_Brat._

_Hey, I’m just telling it like it is._ He heard her chuckle in the back of his mind and smirked.

_I’m having second thoughts about somethin’, darlin’._

_Poor baby. Lay it on me_. Jean curled her fingers around his and kissed his shoulder.

_Back in the day, I didn’t know what I was doin’…_

_Sure you did. You were just taken for granted, and then taken for a ride. Not everyone’s like Mac._

_That left a bad taste in my mouth._

_I don’t blame you. I’d show up at his front doorstep with a bat if he’d done to me what he did to you, sweetie. Doesn’t matter that I’m a straight woman. I’ve never put up with a man treating me like that._ Logan dipped his head and brushed his lips over her forehead. _You spoiled me. You never did that._

_Never. That’s not how I’m made, darlin’. I love you. I always loved you._

_I couldn’t help but love you. You’re a teddy bear._

_Am not!_

_Are too._

_Don’t tell anyone._

_Zipping my lip, now._

_I just don’t wanna get too cozy and end up bein’ told I was just a fling._

_He doesn’t seem that type to me._

_What do you think, anyway?_

_Seems kinda fun. I like his taste in clothes and coffee. Snappy dresser, nice sense of humor. Seems kinda cocky._

_No shit. He’s definitely that._

_That’s good for you, you know. You always retreat inside yourself. Bottle too much up._

_Never did around you._

_Sure you did. You even let me have free run of the house with my girly décor. I flowered the heck out of every square inch of the place, and never heard a peep from you._

_That wasn’t a big deal. Made ya happy._

_And you always do that for other people, sometimes at your own expense. But I know what it did to you when Mac broke it off with you. That was hard on you._

It _was_ hell on him.

Mac Hudson was the one who slipped past Logan’s defenses. Athletic and confident, outspoken and popular, he was the one who planned the keggers and who everyone called first to ask what the plan was.

He singled out Logan frequently to tease him, since he was the strong, silent type. It was so much fun to get a rise out of him, even though it was difficult.

_Hey, Logan, the beauty shop called. They’re out of hair gel._

Half of his day to day contact with Mac involved taking umbrage. Mac loved pranks, whether it was dropping an ice cube down Logan’s collar, kick me signs on his back, nabbing him with a Super Soaker as he rounded the hall or pantsing him on the lawn outside their dorms.

So it came like a shot out of the blue when they were joking around in the showers. Mac snapped his towel at Logan’s vulnerable rear with a loud crack.

“Sonofa…!”

He chased him. It didn’t matter that he’d had to hop stumbling on one foot to struggle into his boxers, nearly slipping on the wet tiles. Logan ran through the bathroom suite, towel rat-tailed and intent on getting his revenge.

Mac stumbled. Logan practically fell on him.

They wrestled. Both of them were slippery and damp, not yet dried off.

They knocked each other down. Gave headlocks. Indian burns. Wet willies. Kidney punches.

Mac’s dark blue eyes dilated once he realized how close Logan was. Before Logan realized what was happening, his dorm mate leaned down and kissed him. It was unexpected and experimental, just trying Logan on, tasting him.

Once the initial shock left him, Logan moaned and kissed him back in kind, letting his fingers creep into Mac’s soft, damp dark hair.

He’d always known the feelings were there, but never knew they were returned. Misgivings that Logan had since he was a boy fell away in the silent shower room, fixtures dripping in the background and echoing off the tile.

Their arrangement was tentative, and their meetings were furtive. Mac lived three doors down. His roommate, Walter, was huge and was there on a football scholarship. They made use of his frequent absences and endless hours at the gym. Hesitant, awkward encounters blossomed into passion, kisses grew bolder as boundaries fell away between them.

Logan put aside everything he thought he knew about himself, every self-preserving urge and threw caution to the wind. He fell in love with James McDonald Hudson, and he fell _hard._

It wasn’t always easy. 

Mac was a neat freak. Logan was a bit of a slob. The bottle of Astroglide was often hidden under pairs of dirty socks on his desk; once Mac winced in disgust when he found it lying in a pizza box. Logan never explained what they had to his parents, but his brother John had a clue. He said nothing.

He grew lost in Mac, even as he told himself that it could end any time.

And it did. 

Heather came along one night, showing up with her friend Narya. She introduced her as one of her sorority sisters. She was striking. When Logan was attracted to women, his preferences ran toward redheads, and she was a petite strawberry blonde.

He shot Mac hurt glances throughout the night as she hung on his every word, plying him with compliments and double entenders. Despite his occasional interruptions, Mac was riveted by her easy charm. Nothing could tear them apart.

A week later, Mac broke it off.

What truly stung was that it meant so little to Mac. That he’d only been experimenting, he said. That Logan shouldn’t have taken it so seriously, he said, because he wasn’t.

Logan was quiet over the next few weeks, licking his wounds in silence.

It was hard. It was ugly. He felt raw.

He told himself that it would have almost been better if he’d never known what it was like to kiss a man’s firm lips or feel a hard, angular body against his, hearing a deep voice murmuring in his ear, urging him to come. Mac was his first.

And somewhere along the way, Logan decided he would be his last.

The break-up wasn’t as fresh by the time Narya introduced him to Jean Grey.

*

… _you were so cute back then._

_I ain’t cute, woman. I’m ‘handsome.’_

_Whatever. You were too cute. I loved your ears and your little grin that you always had when you were up to something._

_Me? I was innocent as a lamb…_

_Yeah, right, buster._

_You gave the best hugs._

_Happy to oblige, darlin’._

_You made me feel safe._

Logan shuddered slightly, then felt shame drift over him.

_Don’t. Don’t feel that way._

_I wasn’t there when ya needed me, Jeannie, I…_

_You couldn’t be everywhere at once._

_I wanted to be able to protect you!_

_Things happen, sweetheart. Life happens. As soon as you walk out that door in the morning, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that you won’t walk back alive._

_Jean…_

_Never, ever feel guilty about what you can’t change._

_It wasn’t your time._

_Maybe it was_. He turned and found her green eyes shining with tears, found his own filling in response. _Everything happens for a reason._

_You can’t give this a reason. I’m dying without you, Jeannie. Love you so much. Hurts so damned much._

_I’m with you. I love you. You carry that with you. I’m alive as long as you keep me in your heart, Jamie. I never would have left you if I could have helped it._

_I don’t know if I can love anyone else the same. Not even close._

_You’d be surprised. Jamie, I don’t want you to be lonely. It’s fine if you want to carry a torch for me. And one day, you’ll see me again._

_Everything feels so empty…_

_But Remy makes it easier, doesn’t he._

Logan mulled that, digested it.

_There’s something about being with him…I can’t explain it. I just feel lighter, somehow. That weight on my chest doesn’t hurt as much._

_It hurts because you won’t let it go. He could lift it from you, if you let him._

_He doesn’t need my pain._

You _don’t need your pain, either_.

_I miss your laughter._

_You always did need to smile more, you know. Always such a poker face._

_That’s just the way I am. Can’t help it._

_That Remy’s a kick in the pants._

Logan smiled in the dark.

_Yeah. He is, isn’t he?_

Daisy yawned, breaking their reverie. Logan gave her a hearty scratch. Jean sighed, sounding resigned.

_There’s something I need to tell you._

_You can tell me anything._

_I know. That’s why it was so easy for me to wrap myself up in you. You’re an easy man to love, James Howlett._

_You’re the only one who’s ever thought that._

_Liar. But listen to me. I’m with you. In more ways than you know._

_Jean…_

_Let me finish. There will be moments when you feel me, not just remembering what we had. You’ll even hear me. Taste me. You might have already._

It dawned on Logan that another piece of the puzzle had been solved.

Half a shot of vanilla, half a shot of almond.

Right as rain.

Ready, Freddie.

_Jeannie…how will I know-_

_I’ll never truly leave you. Good night._

_JEANNIE!_

 

Logan jerked awake, bathed in his own sweat. Daisy whined and yawned again, panting for attention and thumping her tail on the sofa cushion.

“Shit.” Logan ran his hand over his face, trying to clear away the cobwebs.

“Shit,” he repeated. The television droned an infomercial for male enhancement pills, telling him that his movie was over. He had a crick in his neck and his mouth tasted like paste.

And he felt more alone than before.

 

*

He woke up a dawn, without even setting an alarm. He was restless.

His feet automatically took him into the kitchen to make coffee. He picked up the phone out of instinct and dialed Remy’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“H’lo?”

“You runnin’?”

“’Course.”

“Want company?”

“More the merrier, chere.”

“Be there with bells on. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

“Shake a leg,” Remy quipped. Logan heard the smile in his voice before they rang off. 

He felt giddy. Satisfaction seemed to fizz inside him, like bubbles. It was such an odd feeling.

The coffee fueled him, and the day was perfect, validating his early trip. Remy was waiting for him, garbed in his windbreaker again and a pair of long shorts. He was chipper as he greeted him.

“Lookin’ alive.”

“That won’t last long, if ya run me like ya did the first time.”

“Admit it, yer gettin’ used ta it.”

“Nah.” Logan bent down and re-tied his laces. “The pain just seems ta mutate and move ta a different part of my body.” Remy snickered.

“Dat’s de spirit. C’mon!” They stretched, and five minutes later they were off.

Normally, Logan would have tried to conserve his energy by not talking. He hated the choppy breathlessness of his voice and the squeezing, hitching sensation in his lungs, not to mention the stitch he inevitably got in his side. But it felt good to talk to Remy. It was so easy to let the words tumble out.

“I enjoyed yer show. Feels like ya keep surprisin’ me with how good all yer work is, every time ya show me somethin’ new.”

“Yer butterin’ me up, cher. Don’t t’ink I’m gonna run ya any less.”

“I ain’t bullshittin’ ya.”

“Why, cher, yer gonna make dis ol’ Cajun blush.”

They ran just as long and hard as before. Logan’s shins and calves protested and his feet soon joined the chorus, but it invigorated him. The ocean breeze breathed new life into him as the sun came up in all its glory.

Remy was impressed at how Logan kept up with him, noticing that he didn’t have to slow his own pace as much for them to stay within elbow’s breadth of each other. He tasted his own sweat on his upper lip, mingling with the salty air. The pain was a good burn, even better because it was shared. They kicked up motes of sand and left behind jagged sets of prints, spaced almost the same.

This time, Logan came prepared. 

“Where ya goin’?” Remy inquired once they returned to the lot. Logan hobbled to his car, still euphoric from their jaunt.

“Back in a sec.” Remy watched him curiously as Logan popped his trunk and fished in it for something. He emerged and returned with a small navy blue duffle with white piping. Logan flung it in the sand and removed his sweat-soaked long-sleeve shirt, glad to let his skin breathe.

“You stickin’ around dis time?” Remy inquired, watching him in surprise.

“Yep.” Logan continued to strip down before his courage left him. He hastily kicked off his shoes and shucked his tank. “You comin’?” He unzipped his duffle and tugged out a rolled-up beach towel. He snapped it open and laid it out, weighing it down with his sneakers.

“Yeah…I just wasn’t expectin’ ya ta take a chance.”

“Feel free ta stop me before I do anything stupid.”

“Not on yer life, mec.” Remy was quick, shucking his windbreaker and tee in one smooth motion and nudging off his shoes with his toes. Moments later, he was darting into the surf with a whoop.

“Shit,” Logan muttered right before he followed him. He braced himself for the shock of the water, knowing he was about to give himself a heart attack.

“HOLY…!!!” Logan was about to change his mind by the time he ran in a few inches past his knees. His feet slapped mounds of wet seaweed and scraped along hundreds of pebbles on his way in, toes sinking into the slushy sand. The wavelets were already lapping at him, splashing his bare legs. Each drop felt like an icicle.

He tripped. The momentum and the sucking waves carried him forward three more steps. Remy doubled back and grabbed his hand with a grin.

“No, you don’t…” Logan threatened just before Remy dove into the surf, jerking Logan in after him. Logan’s voice was swallowed up by a rush of water and foam.

Bone-snapping, blood-chilling cold water. Oh, yes, Logan was definitely going to kill him.

He emerged, gulping in hungry, desperate breaths, arms instinctively hugging himself. He bobbed up and down in the waves in an effort to warm himself. “Damn it, Remy!’ Remy’s head popped up, slick as a seal’s, and he grinned at Logan ear-to-ear. “Bastard!” he hissed. Remy ducked when Logan indignantly swatted a handful of water at his face.

“Nice, ain’t it?”

“You’re a sadist. There’s somethin’ wrong with you.”

“Awww, c’mon. It’s bracin’, makes ya feel alive!”

“This. Will. Kill. Me.” Logan hadn’t planned on giving himself hypothermia that morning. Betsy would curse him ten ways from Sunday if he didn’t show up for inventory, and it wouldn’t matter if an ambulance carted off his blue-lipped carcass sopping wet on a stretcher, either. Betsy would have her revenge.

“Water’s fine,” Remy assured him cheerfully as he began to backstroke. Logan wandered in a few feet farther, treading water to get his bearings.

“Yer used ta this,” Logan accused.

“Gotta be. Got an Iron Man competition comin’ up.”

“Hey. I forgot about that.”

“Gotta train,” Remy shrugged.

That explained his seeming invulnerability to the frigid water. But Logan gradually grew used to it. He sidestroked as Remy switched to an easy crawl stroke. Logan had forgotten how buoyant he was, how much he used to enjoy swimming. It was nice to feel weightless. Weightless, in more ways than one.

*

An hour later, they lay stretched out and basking in the now warmer morning sun. Logan was dry again but his skin was slightly crusted with sand. Remy’s hair had sprung into damp curls from their swim. The wind played with it, making it blow around his face.

“I can’t move,” Logan murmured.

“Want Remy t’carry ya?”

“You an’ what army?”

“Need de workout, anyway,” Remy claimed.

“Nah. I could toss you over my shoulder, kid. Stiff breeze’ll blow ya away.”

“Like hell!” Remy was lean, certainly not bony, but he was all long limbs and had an enviably narrow waist.

“Anna Marie ain’t feedin’ ya?”

“Pfft.” Remy shook his head, smiling. “Tante Mattie feeds me. I’ve got a hollow leg, ot’erwise, I’d be de size of a house.” Then Remy remembered something. “Speaking of which, dere’s a matter of dinner.”

“Hm.”

“Pick a night.”

“Friday?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Non. Just be prepared ta stagger away from de table. Better yet, jus’ bring a bigger pair of pants.” 

But Logan didn’t have any spare fat. His normal work clothes added bulk that he didn’t have, Remy realized. He was laid out, loose shorts clinging to him while they were still damp, hugging the slope of his sturdy thighs and narrow hips.

In his own rugged, off-kilter way, Logan was beautiful.

His skin was slightly tanned. Remy guessed that his natural skin tone always held a ruddy, olive cast year-round. A dark layer of hair covered his chest and tapered the further it traveled down his abdomen, dwindling to a narrow strip just shy of his navel. His shoulders were invitingly broad and solid. The kind that you wanted to lean on while breathing in the scent of a man’s neck, or while caressing his pulse…

Other small details of his body distracted Remy. Beige, flat nipples were shaped like perfect little dimes. His navel was an inny. Logan had a faded scar on his left knee and he had long, wide feet for someone who was relatively short.

He still wore his platinum wedding band. Remy noticed it when Logan reached up to scratch his nose. He opened his eyes and squinted up at him while Remy leaned back on his elbows.

“What? What’re ya lookin’ at?”

“You,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I felt like it. I like it. Like what I see.”

“Why?” Logan repeated hollowly. He felt unnerved beneath his scrutiny, and his heart began to pound.

“Because I can’t help it. And that scares me.”

Logan swallowed hard. His mouth went dry and he felt a bubble of anxiety rise up in his gut.

“Yeah? Well, it scares me, too,” he blurted out. The words escaped him. Remy’s eyes darkened with intensity. Logan couldn’t, wouldn’t believe what was happening, playing out in slow motion. He didn’t want to jinx it. It was surreal and beautiful and terrifying and he didn’t want it to end, didn’t want anyone to jump out from the background and laugh at him for it being a lie.

His breath hitched as Remy flipped onto his side, staring rapt into his eyes, letting his own take in those minor details of his looks, the flare of his nostrils and the aquiline bump of his nose, the faint laugh lines and the warm flecks of gold in his irises that kept Logan’s eyes from being a flat brown.

“Chere,” he whispered. His breath steamed the corner of Logan’s mouth, making him realize how close he was, how he carefully leaned over him, shielding his face from the sun’s glare as the shadow fell over him.

All he could see was the sun limning Remy’s hair in gold before he teased the corner of his mouth with his lips. Logan’s heart throbbed so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.

“Logan,” he whispered this time, letting his lips drift to the opposite corner, barely brushing it. It was erotic, making Logan’s body tense in anticipation and crave more. His lips were soft. Logan wondered if they tasted salty…

Logan whimpered. Whimpered. His face leaned up toward the fleeting contact, and the next time Remy’s lips brushed his, his own gently pushed back, welcoming him.

Warmth and energy and the rightness of it flooded Logan as Remy sucked his lower lip, urging him to open for him. They both began to tingle as they measured each other with the kiss, feeling something electric come alive inside them.

They focused only on the kisses, low moans of satisfaction mingling with their breath. But when Logan reached up tentatively to stroke Remy’s cheek, then let his fingers trail over his pulse, he felt it pounding, throbbing, and it became impossible not to touch him, not when his bare skin was calling to him. His hand snaked around Remy’s nape, cupping it and clutching his hair, tangling in it as the kiss grew hot.

Relief washed over Remy that it wasn’t just a dream, that Logan was actually beside him…beneath him, now, arms twining around him to stroke his warm back. Yes. The word was a feeling, echoing in his consciousness as Logan’s tongue caressed his, smooth as velvet. Damp shorts were the only barrier between them as Remy’s body shifted, movements sinuous and addictive against the man under him, making him desperate for more. So he tasted him, drank from him, reveling in him and the hope of what was to come.

They came up for air, inevitably. Logan realized that Remy’s lips did taste like sea salt, and now, they also tasted like him.

“What’s dat look for?”

“What look?”

“Dat sexy lil’ smile,” Remy accused softly, nuzzling him. The corners of Logan’s mouth spread more broadly.

“Nothin’.” His palm cradled Remy’s cheek. His eyes were full of mischief, the kind that told Remy that there was more to that smile, indeed, than he’d let on.

“So it has not’in’ t’do wit dis, den?” Remy emphasized his point with a roll of his hips. Logan’s gasp was strangled as he felt Remy’s erection pressing into him, nearly bruising him with his hardness. His own arousal throbbed and ached, craving more of Remy’s attention.

“It might have somethin’ t’do with that.”

“How ‘bout dis?” Remy dipped his lips to the side of Logan’s throat, and Logan groaned, leaning away to give him better access. Remy lapped up his saltiness and the distinctly male flavors that had taunted him for so long, making him wonder if Logan tasted as good as he looked.

“Please,” Logan whispered. “Please, Remy.”

“Please Remy, what?”

Logan didn’t know what. His body shuddered under Remy’s briefly before his world was turned upside-down. Logan rolled them over neatly, unexpectedly, and Remy found himself staring up into his dark eyes, into that dear, rugged face that had haunted his dreams at night, right before Logan’s lips descended and took his in clear possession. Logan almost laughed at Remy’s startled “mmmph!” and was glad he didn’t make him bite his tongue.

Thank you, God! Remy sighed in contentment as the kiss grew liquid, deepened, then became endless. Logan’s thigh pressed Remy’s legs apart, and he ground against him wickedly, giving him but a taste of what they both needed.

His lips traveled over Remy’s face as he spoke.

“I don’t know how it happened.” Kiss. “But I care about ya.” Kiss. “A lot.” Nibble, nibble.

“Took ya long enough, chere.”

“I just want ya ta understand why. I loved Jeannie…loved a woman, for so long…”

“Ya t’ought dat de next time ya fell in love, it’d hafta be wit’ a woman, too?” Remy finished for him.

“Yes,” Logan admitted, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Remy’s. “And even then, Remy, I never thought I’d be able to love someone like that again. No matter who they were.” His eyes held pain when he opened them again. “I still don’t know if I can.”

If his honesty wounded Remy, he didn’t show it.

He did the only thing he could at that moment that transcended words, and he kissed him again, the arched brows, his eyelids that felt like flower petals, the tip of his nose, the crowns of his cheeks, and his tender earlobes, suckling them until he gasped.

The waves crashed against the shore, heralding high tide.

I still don’t know if I can.

Well, then, Remy decided, it was up to him to prove that Logan could.


	10. Wear Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interrupted dinner shakes things up between Logan and Remy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won’t be long. I’ve been letting this sit for a long time, not out of disinterest, just out of trying to get my head together and sort through my fics as a whole, rounding up which ones can be continued and which should just stand pat, or even be shelved.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include a hospital emergency, in case that is triggering for some. I used to work at my local hospital's main branch in different capacities.

Logan pondered the selections of flowers at the Stop & Shop, debating on whether or not to get an arrangement already packed in a vase, or to buy a bunch instead of one particular kind. The carnations didn’t appeal to him; the leaves were already slightly limp, like they’d been sitting out a day too long. Logan wanted to bring a nice assortment, in the attempt to pick out at least one kind that his hostess might enjoy. He finally decided on a bouquet of mixed long stems that included some tall purple irises and white chrysanthemums. 

Logan was scrambling to get home before rush hour traffic, but he still needed to pick up his good shirt from the dry cleaner’s, shower, shave, and make sure Daisy had some attention before he was out for the night. Remy had spoiled her so much that Logan felt guilty for leaving her home alone. But she was also happy, which pleased him, glad to have another grownup to talk to, and, to Logan’s mind, flirt with. And she was shameless, too, laying her head in Remy’s lap every time he sat down or lying right over his feet.

Logan knew how she felt, but he was more reserved about it.

Perhaps still too reserved. Remy still didn’t linger long when Logan came home for their usual chat when Remy returned his keys. Sometimes he would make Logan dinner from whatever offerings he had in his refrigerator, which made him flush with guilt. He didn’t need to do that, but Remy inevitably told him to cut the shit. He wanted to do it.

On those nights – which were steadily growing more frequent - where Remy made himself blunt that he wanted more time with him, they watched Law&Order reruns on the couch, at first merely holding hands and leaning companionably into each other. It was so easy to be with him, but again, Logan felt guilty about keeping him over too late when sunset drifted into dusk and he found that they’d spent hours just talking. He knew Remy loved his early mornings, whether he ran with Logan or not, and he hated to keep him up too late. When the time got away from them, Logan would sometimes wake up to find himself draped in a blanket, head tipped over Remy’s shoulder. Goodnight kisses between them were tender but still just that, “goodnights.”

The urge to just let himself fall over the edge was so strong…to just let go. Remy’s smile was understanding, but there was such a look of longing in his eyes sometimes. Why couldn’t Logan just give in to what was between them, his look seemed to say. To Remy’s credit, Logan had finally acknowledged that there actually was something between them. But he didn’t want to bang his head against the wall that Logan kept putting up. As he’d told him often enough, life was too short.

In the meantime, Remy’s foster aunt was rooting for them, in her own way as bad as Daisy. Logan admired her bluntness and sass.

“So why haven’t ya come ta dinner wit’ Remy?” she demanded to know one day when Logan met the two of them at another of Remy’s shows.

“Uh…hmmm…” Logan scratched his neck, searching for an excuse.

“Now why ya wanna leave a woman by her lonesome when she’s got good food?” Remy chimed in, enjoying his discomfiture. His black eyes were dancing and he gave Logan a tiny smirk that said _See what you did. It isn’t just me. Try to get out of this one._

“Come on over an’ eat,” she commanded haughtily. “Won’t find any better soul food den what I can make, ‘specially when Remy throws down in de kitchen wit’ me. When I can get his lazy butt in dere,” she pointed out, tweaking the taller man’s ear.

“Awwwww, now look whatcha’ve done, Logan, she’s on me now, cuz you ain’t been over.”

“Don’t blame me,” Logan pleaded, holding up his hands.

“No excuses. You, in de kitchen; you, at de table. No buts.” Mattie’s chin jutted at a stubborn angle as she thumped her cane on the hard wood floor. “Been puttin’ it off too long. Got all kinds of good t’ings outta my garden dat’re jus’ gonna go bad if we don’ eat ‘em.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Logan agreed. Mattie smiled and patted his cheek.

“Knew dere wuz a reason why I liked ya, chere. Yer agreeable.” She turned to Remy. “He’ll do.”

Logan found himself looking forward to the dinner, grateful that he wouldn’t have to make excuses for not taking things to a more intimate level for another night, but that he would still have the chance to spend time with Remy. With his _boyfriend_. It had such an odd ring to it, but the thought made Logan smile.

“Boyfriend,” Logan murmured softly as he steered his car down the back way through his neighborhood, waving at a group of kids playing with their pellet guns. He whistled cheerfully as he made his way up his front walk, and he already heard the scrabbling of Daisy’s feet behind the door before he unlocked it.

“Hey, girl…easy!” She was all over him, desperate for cuddles, which told Logan that she hadn’t had her walk yet. His house had that telltale “empty” smell that meant Remy hadn’t been over, which he anticipated, since he was going to be helping his aunt with the cooking, but Logan felt his absence keenly. It had become so nice to have someone to come home to. Daisy stayed underfoot as he went through his usual routine of feeding her, opening the mail, and taking off his shoes and work clothes while he turned on the evening news.

He stepped into the blessedly hot shower and let it wash over him, the rush of spray spearing through his thick hair, but it did little to clear his head. Logan wanted to get this right…there wasn’t necessarily a “wrong” to what they had, it was just…

It wasn’t what he had with Jean. It wasn’t even what he had with Mac. 

Mac had just been “trying him on.” Logan had gotten hurt. Naturally, that left him gun-shy. But Logan didn’t want to do things half-assed, playing at a relationship with Remy if he couldn’t go in full-tilt, wholehearted and guns blazing. Remy was being big about it, not pushing him.

A selfish, niggling voice inside Logan said _Why the hell isn’t he pushing me?_ It was so damned confusing…

 

He went through the motions of getting ready, but took extra care with his hair and shave. He knew Remy would be fine with how he looked, but he wanted to be more presentable for Mattie, since Remy cared so much for her, and he wanted to be a conscientious guest. He put the finishing touches on his tie and shined his shoes with a chamois cloth to make them gleam. A brief slap of aftershave and final flick of the comb through his hair satisfied him. Jean always thought he looked nice in the deep coffee brown shirt and tie set she bought him for his birthday; Logan decided he would pass muster.

He turned on his radio and found himself humming along to an old Stevie Nicks tune, then singing along with Tom Petty’s half of the duet, surprised that he still knew the lyrics. Anticipation warmed his guts, leaving him with a strange, fizzy feeling. It was just a dinner, but it reminded him of the first time he’d met Jean’s parents at their house. It cemented what they had, gave it more stable and enduring definition. 

His brows drew together and he felt his gut twist into a hard, cold knot when he saw the rotating beacon lights of an ambulance four houses ahead of him. Remy’s house.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Oh, no.” His heart slammed in his ribcage as he parked the car in front of the nearest house and fumbled to yank the keys out of the ignition. He trotted, then sprinted across the front yard and found the front door ajar, automatically letting himself in.

“Remy?” he called out gently. Anna Marie hurried into the hallway from the kitchen at the sound of his voice. Her face was stricken, but relaxed slightly as her eyes landed on him. 

“Logan? Aw, shoog, all hell broke loose a few minutes ago. C’mon, sit.”

“Where’s Remy? Is he okay?”

“He’s just shook up,” she assured him, and he could tell the same could be said for Anna. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying and her cheeks were pink. “Mattie had a bad spell.” Cold prickles crept over Logan with that revelation.

“Shit,” he murmured,” what happened?” He was interrupted from further questions as the paramedic came out of the kitchen, and Anna automatically held onto his arm. He reached for her hand and squeezed it, absorbing her tension and fear.

“I’m afraid she had a stroke.”

“Oh, no,” Anna cried, “not another one!”

“She’s had one before?”

“Yeah. Aw, Gawd,” Anna breathed. Logan supported her when she began to wobble. “She was in the kitchen, busy as you please, but all of the sudden she said she didn’t feel good. When Ah turned around ta get her a glass of water, she just dropped like a stone. Remy didn’t catch her on time, he was pullin’ something out of the oven.” Logan only then noticed all of the aromas in the house that would have made his stomach growl if it wasn’t so roiled with new stress.

“We’re transporting her to the hospital now, it’ll be a few minutes. We’ve already taken her vitals, and we’ve got her on some oxygen. She’s responding pretty well, but she’s not talking yet. This was a bigger attack than the one she had before, I’m guessing.”

“Ah wuzn’t here for the last one,” Anna Marie told them, “but yeah, Ah know this is worse. A lot worse.”

“You can’t predict these things,” the paramedic told them. His name tag identified him as Tom Corsi. His face was slightly older, possibly in his late forties, and his deep voice was calm and reassuring. “We’ll take good care of her from here. She’ll be in the neuro trauma ward when she’s checked in as an admit. That’s on the first floor. Family only visitors, though.”

“That’s us,” Anna Marie informed him crisply, holding on more tightly to Logan’s hand. “Remy’s her next of kin.”

“That’s fine,” he nodded. “Stay clear. Right out here, while we get her into the ambulance. We’ll need some room to work.” Almost on cue, Remy came out of the kitchen, followed shortly by two more men carrying Mattie out on a gurney and toting an oxygen tank. Mattie looked smaller and alarmingly gray bundled beneath the plain beige blankets. She had taken the time to put on makeup and Logan caught a hint of her soft perfume. Like him, she’d looked forward to the dinner. His heart squeezed at the sight of her left hand, curled in a tight claw over the blankets. Her eyes stared up, watery and blank, then jerked over to glance at him and Anna.

“Gimme a minute,” Remy snapped as they prepared to take her outside. He bent and stroked her hair, kissing her temple. “Love you,” he murmured, “okay? I love you, an’ I’ll be dere in a flash. I’m gonna make ‘em take good care of my best girl, okay?” Her shallow breathing picked up slightly beneath the mask and her eyes watered slightly. She closed them again when he gave her one last kiss and tucked her arm more securely beneath the blanket to keep her warm.

Logan’s heart felt squeezed by fear and worry, and it tore at him seeing Remy in such a ruined, tortured state. Remy followed the paramedics out the door and watched them from the front porch as they rolled the gurney up the ramp. Logan held his breath, waiting for Remy to acknowledge him, but Anna Marie clamored for his attention first, saving him from having to find the appropriate words.

“I’m gonna get mah purse,” she interjected. “Ah’m also gonna pack up an overnight bag. Remy, is everything in the kitchen turned off?” She was off like a shot, keeping up a running dialogue as she moved. Remy looked dazed as his eyes finally landed on Logan.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Logan greeted. “Scared the shit outta me when I saw ‘em outside as I came up.”

“M’own heart jus’ about stopped when I turned around and saw her go down,” Remy countered. “Ain’t breathed yet.”

“Maybe you should,” Logan suggested gently. “Ya need anything? Let me get ya some water…”

“Non,” Remy argued wearily. He reached for Logan’s wrist and pulled him close. “Remy don’t need anyt’in’ particular right now. Jus’ don’ leave.” Logan needed no further urging as he wrapped him in a tight embrace, feeding him his heat and strength.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” Logan soothed, letting the palm splayed over Remy’s long, narrow back begin to stroke him. Remy’s heart thudded in skips and starts, worrying him even as it reassured him that it was Remy standing here, and not laid out on a gurney in the ambulance.

That had been his real worry, but he didn’t take any comfort in it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, pressing a gently kiss against Remy’s collarbone. He felt Remy’s breath hitch and his vigorous nod, then the faint press of his lips against the top of his head. They stood like that for another minute or two while Anna Marie continued to bustle her way through the house, preparing them for the trip to the hospital. Holding each other and listening to each other’s drumming heartbeats.

 

*

Nearly two hours later, both men flanked Anna Marie in the trauma waiting room as they tried not to nod off in front of the modest television. Waiting for Mattie’s caregivers to finish the battery of tests and blood work had been arduous and exhausting; they were still waiting for her to get settled comfortably in her room. Logan reached despondently into a crumpled bag of peanut M&Ms and helped himself to two. Remy shook his head when he offered it to him, so he sat it down on the plain-looking, veneer coffee table.

“Ah hate this,” Anna Marie muttered. “Crappy waitin’ rooms. Think they’d make these places more comfortable knowin’ the people in ‘em ain’t gonna budge.”

“Guess they don’t want ‘em ta treat it like a hotel,” Remy mused miserably. He rubbed his hand over his face, and Logan noticed how tired his eyes were, to the point there they had bags underneath.

“I don’t miss this room,” Logan said quietly. That gave Remy pause.

“Whaddya mean?” Anna inquired.

“I spent a long time in here when they brought Jeannie in,” Logan explained. “Hasn’t changed all that much.”

“Ya don’ hafta stay, chere,” Remy told him.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Then he changed his mind. “Except the car. I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Why?” Remy asked, cocking one brow in confusion.

“I have something for Mattie that I didn’t get to bring in earlier. Might as well let her have it now,” Logan reasoned as he got up, stretching uncomfortably from the too deep, too-soft couch that seemed to swallow him when he first sat down on it.

He hurried out to the car, fleeing from the memories of his last trip to the ward, but he shook it off as he opened the car and reached for the bouquet. Now he regretted not having a vase with him after all, but he hoped the bright blooms cheered her once she was awake to enjoy them. It felt like such a paltry gesture, but beyond that, Logan had nothing.

When he got back to the room, his gut clenched at the sound of Anna Marie’s low sobs. Remy held her, comforting her, but silvery tears dripped down his own cheeks. Logan silently set the bouquet down on the table and did nothing else to draw attention to himself. They needed each other, and he felt out of place, the only one there who wasn’t technically family.

*

Once he finally left the hospital, Logan’s sleep had been fitful and unhelpful. Daisy sensed his distress and slept at his feet, whistling and whining low in her throat whenever he woke up. She nosed him in concern; he answered her with a scratch behind her ears before he finally rose groggily from the bed. He wondered if hot milk would help.

He didn’t expect the microwave clock display to tell him it was already five-thirty. It was still unnaturally dark outside, telling him that autumn was giving way to winter, and he smelled rain. He vaguely remembered the sound of light showers through the night. Logan decided it made more sense to make himself a pot of coffee instead. It was Saturday morning, but he was already debating whether to open the shop. He was worn out.

He froze mid-yawn, carafe poised by the faucet to fill it at the sound rap against his kitchen door. “Shit,” he hissed in surprise. No one ever came to see him at that hour.

Remy’s eyes peered at him through the pane as he undid the locks. “Remy?” he asked, concerned. “C’mon in. Get warm, kiddo.” He looked at Remy’s clothing, puzzled. He wore his nylon running gear and a hooded sweatshirt, but his clothing was soaked through. “Don’t tell me ya ran here?”

“Needed ta clear my head,” he replied hoarsely, panting and leaning against the doorframe. Logan’s eyes raked over him and he scowled.

“It’s fuckin’ freezing out. Ya aren’t wearing enough,” Logan scolded, ushering him inside. “Damn it, Remy, don’t make me take ya over my knee.” He urged him into a kitchen chair and continued making the pot of coffee.

“M’fine,” Remy argued.

“Nah. Ya aren’t. I’m gonna warm ya up.” Logan was grateful to have something to do, and Daisy must have felt the same, because her clawed paws came scrabbling over the kitchen linoleum and she greeted Remy with wet kisses. He embraced the dog and gave her a hearty scratch that made her thump her tail in satisfaction. His smile was still sad.

“How is she?” Logan asked as he selected two mugs from the cupboard.

“She’s in a bad way,” Remy said. “I ain’t dealin’ wit’ dis well, Logan.”

“Of course not,” Logan agreed. “There ain’t no right way of dealin’ with his, darlin’.” Remy didn’t ponder the use of the pet name. He just allowed Logan to set the strong-smelling roast before him so he could wrap his hands around the mug, letting its heat seap into his bones.

“M’so scared,” Remy husked. His eyes shone with the threat of fresh tears. “Needed t’see you.” Logan set down the loaf of bread he had just taken down from the top of the fridge and crossed the room, kneeling before him. He squeezed Remy’s knee kindly, still alarmed at how cold his flesh felt through the thin, damp nylon.

“I’m here, baby.” Remy’s face crumpled and Logan was pulling him down into his embrace before the first sob escaped his chest. They were ragged, harsh heaves that thrummed through Logan over the hiss of the coffee maker or Daisy’s soft whines. Remy clung to him with his entire body, legs splayed open to allow Logan closer. His long, wiry arms locked him against him desperately, unable to let go of his anchor or release the source of vital warmth and comfort. He breathed in the scent of Logan’s sleep-warmed skin and soft, thick hair. Logan’s voice was a thick, low rasp that stroked Remy’s nerve endings, blanketing him.

“Yer cold.”

“M’all right.”

“Okay.” But Logan’s hand was rubbing the length of his thigh, trying to coax warmth into it, and Remy sighed over his stubbornness. He pulled away only long enough to jerk off the sweatshirt and then kissed Logan, ruffling his hair.

“Let me get ya somethin’ else ta wear,” he suggested. Daisy stayed with Remy, taking up Logan’s spot, taking her customary perch in Remy’s lap. He accepted her affections and dashed the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. Remy watched the steam rise from his untouched coffee. He felt awkward suddenly, sitting in the middle of Logan’s kitchen after showing up unannounced in the wee hours. It had been his first instinct to come here. He didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly Logan was the source of his strength, the one thing in his life that made sense when he’d given up trying to figure it out.

Logan approached with a folded comforter draped over his burly arm and a bundle of warm-looking clothes. “These’ll be roomy on ya, since yer skinnier than me-“ Remy didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence before he was up out of his chair. He took the comforter from him and plopped it into his abandoned seat, did the same with the clothes and gripped Logan’s shoulders. “Rem, what…?” Remy’s cool lips swallowed whatever he was about to say as he kissed him breathless, even senseless. Logan’s knees went weak as a strained, surprisingly high “mmmmph” escaped him. His large hands drifted to Remy’s hips and held him fast while Remy took from him slowly, infusing him with his need as their kiss grew hot. Remy slanted his mouth over his, urging him to open for him, and Logan thought he was drowning when that velvety tongue stroked him, exploring his mouth so intimately. He went up in flames, and his only concern was sharing that heat with Remy.

“Damn it, Remy.” It took all he had to recover himself and break the kiss, but he was sorely out of breath. Both of them were panting, pinning each other with dazed looks. Remy leaned his forehead against his, cupping the face he found so dear and familiar.

“Need ya right now, chere,” he murmured.

“This ain’t the time; I know yer havin’ a hard time right now.”

“Just hold me.” Logan processed that demand quickly, leading him back to his bedroom.

He didn’t suggest the clothes again. Remy sat on the edge of the bed while Logan helped him out of the rest of his damp sweats, leaving him in his boxers, undershirt and socks. He quickly folded down the covers and bundled him up, sliding in next to him to lend him his heat and bulk. Logan needed no further encouragement and he gathered him into his arms, listening to Remy’s drumming heartbeat. They lay tangled together and listened to the rain tapping against the roof as fresh showers began outside. Logan was lulled by it and by the feel of Remy’s smooth skin beneath his stroking hands, and he drifted back to sleep.


	11. Have the Sun to Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day break. A slip of the tongue. Difficult recoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following this story, I appreciate sharing it with you.

It took Remy several long minutes to realize where he was as his eyes drifted around his surroundings. The bed was larger and firmer than his, king-sized and dressed with fewer blankets. The weight of someone’s head warmed his shoulder and he felt their breath steaming his chest. He craned his neck down to peer into Logan’s face, sweet and relaxed in slumber, and Remy felt his heart fill. He tightened his embrace, enjoying how solid he felt and the scent of his hair and skin. The feeling was mutual, if the way Logan twined his leg around his in his sleep was any indication. He was such a teddy bear, Remy marveled. There was no awkwardness here, no fleeting looks of embarrassment or misread messages of how close he would allow himself to get to Remy. Remy smothered a sigh; they’d made progress, but they had a long way to go.

Logan arched into him, nuzzling Remy’s neck, and his low snores leveled off, changing to deep, even breathing. Remy smiled, giving Logan’s shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Waky, waky,” he murmured.

“Early,” Logan mumbled. “S’early, Jeannie…”

Remy froze.

Logan continued to seek him out in sleep. He ran his palm over Remy’s chest, tracing his ribs. He paused as he reached his heartbeat, exploring its quiet thumps. “Love you…” he murmured.

_Shit._

Remy was torn. He could wake him fully and gently correct him, or he could let him linger in his assumption, and pretend those words for him. Either option left him feeling bereft, frustrated and confused.

Logan’s warmth and lingering caresses were making the decision difficult, even taking it out of his hands. That wonderful, firm mouth nipped at him, nibbling the edge of his chin, causing a ticklish shiver in his belly. Remy groaned, at a complete loss, and his hand betrayed him, combing through Logan’s sleep-tousled hair and dragging his head down toward his throat. This was always their stopping point, and it was so damned tempting…

_Uh-uh. Not like this. Let him know who he’s dealing with._

“Cher,” he murmured, nudging him insistently, unwilling to stop the lips steaming his pulse.

“Mmm…

“Cher…Logan. C’mon, now. Gonna hafta let ol’ Remy get up. Gotta powder my nose.” 

Gonna hafta let ol’ Remy get up. Logan froze and immediately took inventory of the situation, and of the warm, yielding body beneath his. Dark eyes snapped open and pinned Remy. His bedmate smiled at him, and the expression was lazy and amused. Sexy.

But Logan was at a loss. Had he said something out of turn? He cleared his throat, which was suddenly hoarse and dry.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Remy squirmed tellingly against him, and Logan rolled off of him to let him stretch. His voice came out on a yawn. “Mornin’. Gonna hafta get movin’. Wanna get to de hospital an’ see Mattie. Visiting hours are gonna start in a few minutes.”

“Shit. Right, right.” Logan searched his brain for possibilities of how to start his own day. “I wanna go with ya.”

“Dere gonna move Mattie to de third floor, mebbe for a couple days. Wanna make sure dey get her well situated and dat I know what her room number’s gonna be. Anna stayed overnight. I’m gonna eit’er bring her a few t’ings, or relieve her for a few hours.”

“Rem? Do ya need me to do anything for ya?”

“Not so much.”

“Serious. Let me help. I can help ya run errands if ya want, or make sure ya have dinner, or whatever. C’mon. Yer gonna be busy all day.” Remy pondered this a moment as he tugged himself reluctantly from Logan’s sleep-warmed sheets. His toes clicked as he padded across the floor. Logan didn’t avoid staring at him, taking in his leonine grace and the long, fluid lines of his body. Damn. Look at him. He was so tempted to pull him back into bed for a few more minutes to give him a proper good morning, but his boyfriend had to attend to matters at hand.

Boyfriend. The word felt odd, yet right. The hesitant feelings he had toward being with Remy dissolved, but he was still so afraid to misstep. “Just let me know, Remy,” he insisted as he rose groggily from the bed. He already missed the feel of Remy against him; his arms ached to hold him for a while longer, and he’d slept so well wrapped in his warmth and scent.

Remy stared back from the edge of the doorway, and he sighed heavily. “I’ll call ya. Let ya know how t’ings are movin’ along.”

“I’m worried about her too, kiddo.” Remy’s face crumpled briefly, and Logan’s gut clenched. He wanted so much to comfort him.

Remy put aside his earlier frustration at Logan’s slip of the tongue and returned to him, stepping into the arms that were already opening for him. This time his sigh was one of relief as Logan stood holding him, rocking him slightly and sharing his heartbeat with him. Hands stroked muscled backs and burrowed through tousled hair, and neither man minded the other’s morning breath as their lips locked in a drowsy, lingering kiss.

He could handle anything, no matter how dark and uncertain, with this man in his corner; Remy knew this deep in his soul.

Logan didn’t suggest they share the shower, since it was too tempting and they had too little time. Remy took care of business in the bathroom while Logan dumped out the cold pot of coffee and made a fresh one. He laid out his own work clothes and took out the steam iron and ironing board.

“Do ya need anything ta wear, Rem?” he called out from the hall, standing by the bathroom door. He wasn’t sure Remy could hear him over the steam of the shower.

“Non. Merci.” His voice was muffled by the spray. “Gon’ head home anyway and get somet’in’ fer Anna Marie. Gonna change dere.”

“Kay, darlin’.”

Remy was glad he couldn’t see him wince. He wondered if that was his pet name for Jean, now. Would he always feel that way, now? It rankled, making a shiver run over his skin. He scrubbed it away with the blue shower puff and foaming gel that hung from the knobs.

Minutes later, they looked like an odd couple, Remy in his running gear and Logan in his suit. They wolfed down a quick breakfast of eggs and toast and downed coffee. Logan poured them two commuter mugs of it to take on their separate trips.

“I’ll be home at dinner time. I won’t go out ta walk Daisy til I hear from you. Call me.”

“Might call ya sooner den dat, when dey tell me ‘bout Mattie an’ where dere plannin’ ta keep her.”

“Call me at work, then.” Logan knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on selling a thing until he heard from him. Remy nodded, then he knelt for kisses from Daisy, who’d been following him around the kitchen since he entered, thumping her tail and nosing him for attention. He doted on her for a minute, ruffling her ears and cooing endearments. She was as lovable as her daddy, he mused, and just as hungry for affection, shameless thing.

“Tired,” Remy complained as he prepared to leave.

“Didn’t sleep enough?”

“Not before I came here, cher.”

“Sorry.” Logan’s face was contrite as he reached down and took Remy’s hand, squeezing it. “Ya gonna be okay?”

“Nap later, and I’ll work out tonight.” He skipped mentioning that his run to Logan’s house was the closest he intended to his usual training for the rest of the day. His heart wasn’t in it.

“Okay.” He clapped Remy on the back. “See ya, kiddo.”

“Bye, Logan.” Remy stroked his cheek briefly, longingly, but Logan saw something troubled in his eyes before he darted out the door.

“Need a ride?”

“Non,” he insisted, already taking off at a fast jog. Logan heaved a sigh as he watched him go.

“That’s fine,” he murmured. Daisy whined behind him, already missing Remy, too.

*

“Inventory’s in, pet.”

“Huh?”

“Truck’s here. So’s Dickhead.” Logan grunted in amusement.

“Be right out.”

“You look tired.”

“Sleep was choppy last night. Got up early this morning and couldn’t drop all the way back to lala-land.” Betsy made a sound of sympathy and nodded.

“Come on, then.”

They went out to the back lot and watched Victor’s usual antics with the ramp and hand truck, sighing as they listened to him curse loudly while unloading the couches and chairs. He was in rare form, using more colorful phrases than usual.

“Why so uptight?” he inquired, looking Betsy up and down, disapproval evident in his face. Betsy was more reserved, wearing her reading glasses and her hair pinned up in a modest chignon. She was buttoned up in a navy blue pantsuit and nondescript bone-colored blouse underneath. The only makeup she wore was plain pink lipstick.

“Some of us have a job to do,” she sniffed. She accompanied these words with a testicle-shriveling, tight little smile. “Coffee?”

“Uh…nah,” Victor decided quickly. He handed her the clipboard, waited for her to sign it, then took it back gingerly, as though it had her cooties on it.

“Oh, have to hurry off?”

“See ya next month,” he barked over his shoulder as he took off at a lope.

Logan stood smirking beside her as Victor drove off. “Nice. Scary, but nice.”

Before she could reply, the phone rang in Logan’s office. He jogged to reach it, catching it on the third ring. “Salem Furniture Studio?”

“Cher?”

“Remy! What’s wrong?” Logan’s heartbeat thudded and knocked in his chest and he felt a cold flush at Remy’s tone, so stricken and panicked.

“Ya gotta come. Please.”

“I’m there.”

*

“She suffered a seizure,” the doctor explained in even tones. “She’s alert right now, but still a little shaken.”

“Can I see her?”

“Two visitors at a time. Family only.” His tone was strict. 

“We are family,” Remy insisted, holding firmly to Logan’s hand. The doctor stared at them pointedly for a moment, then nodded.

“That’s fine. Check in with the nurse’s station before you leave, so they know you when you come back.” They needed no further urging, and after a cursory discussion with the charge nurse at the desk, they entered Mattie’s room.

She looked so wan and small bundled beneath several of the scratchy beige blankets. Her arm looked wizened and thin, her dark skin a stark contrast with the plain bedding and what seemed like miles of clear white tubing. Her dark eyes jerked around the room at the merest sound, and they widened briefly as they landed on Logan and Remy as they gently closed the door. Logan pulled up a chair by the bed and nodded for Remy to sit down.

“Hey, Mattie,” he greeted hesitantly, offering her as friendly a smile as he could manage, but Logan’s voice shook. Mattie groaned in response, and her hand trembled as she reached for Remy. Her other arm lay slack over her belly, not even twitching with her other hand’s movements. Remy stroked her hair tenderly, bending down to kiss her soft cheek.

“How’s my best girl?” Remy murmured. “Gave me a scare.”

“Hnnnn…” she agreed. Her thumb stroked his knuckle reassuringly.

“Dey only let two of us in at a time. Can’t throw dat big party we had planned in here, after all,” Remy quipped, but his eyes shone with unshed tears. Mattie weakly shook her head, as though she wanted to tell him he was full of beans.

“They gave ya a room with a view. You can see right into the parking lot from here,” Logan informed her.

“Heh.” One side of Mattie’s lips quirked up. She tugged her hand free from Remy’s grasp briefly, then gestured to Logan.

“She wants ya ta come closer,” Remy supplied. Logan obeyed, standing on the same side of the bed as Remy. He felt awkward, not wanting to intrude on Remy’s time with his aunt, yet he was touched that Remy wanted to include him in his time with her. Mattie’s dark eyes, normally so clear, were slightly bloodshot and rheumy, but they pierced Logan, seeming to look inside him. Her hand gripped his with surprising strength. She struggled to say something. He nodded for her to take her time, stroking her slim hand that felt so delicate in his. The birthdate on her wristband told him that she wasn’t a young woman anymore, and that pulled at him, made the moments in the room more precious.

“They’re gonna take good care of ya,” Logan told her. “We’re gonna make sure of it.”

“Nnh.” Her eyes darted over to Remy, then back to Logan. She nodded to Remy. Remy stared quizzically, confused.

“She’s got somet’in’ on her mind,” he remarked.

“She’s glad ta see ya,” Logan decided.

“Hrrmm…” She was still nodding at Remy, then carefully extracted her hand from Logan’s. She gestured to Remy again. He took her hand once more, confused.

“Whatsamatter, chere?”

“Hnn,” she pronounced, gesturing to Logan, who was resting his hand on the arm rail of the bed. She was growing slightly irritated with them both, and neither of them knew why.

Mattie took matters into her own hands, or her good one, at any rate. She tugged Remy’s hand over to Logan’s, then curled his fingers around the back of it before she released her grasp, tired from the effort.

She’d made her point.

“She wants me ta take care of you, too,” Logan murmured. His eyes pricked.

“Non. She wants me ta take care of you,” Remy argued.

“Point taken,” Logan agreed. “Thanks, Mattie.” Logan wrapped his arm around Remy in a fond hug. Mattie managed a vestige of a smile.

 

Anna Marie came by later that day, refreshed and groomed, bringing another flower arrangement to join the one Logan brought the night before. Logan looked up from an episode of Days of Our Lives and offered her a smile.

“Lookin’ good, Anna.”

“Feel like my eyes are burnt out holes in mah head,” she confessed, and despite her careful efforts with her makeup, Logan silently agreed she was right. Her green eyes held fine lines beneath them that weren’t there before. He gave her a hearty hug that she encouraged to him to let linger for a minute, then let him go. “It was nice of ya ta come, shoog.”

“Nothing’ll keep me away.”

“I was waitin’ on pins an’ needles, wonderin’ if Remy’d call me when Ah left. Didn’t wanna leave, but Ah had ta check in at work. Sure nuff, as soon as Ah’m done checkin’ mah voice mail, Ah get a call. I turned off mah PC, turned on mah phone’s voice mail, and ran back out like a shot.”

“She was up and around a lil’ bit ago,” Remy told her. “Drop in an’ see her before she takes anot’er nap.”

“Might stay with her anyway, whether she’s sleepin’ or not,” Anna decided. “Might be nice if one of us was with her when she wakes up.” 

“What’d ya bring?” Logan nodded to a carryall Anna had slung over her shoulder.

“Comfort items. Lotion. Warm socks. A book that Ah can read ta her if she wants. Might even give her a pedicure when she’s up to it.”

“She needs de pamperin’,” Remy agreed. Logan was silent.

One of the things he’d noticed while Jean was in the hospital was the neuro-trauma patients. They almost always had long, overgrown toenails when they’d been in the hospital for several days, or even weeks. Something about it always unnerved him.

Anna Marie studied both men thoughtfully for a minute. “Ya both look worn out.”

“I’m fine,” Remy assured her. “No naggin’, Anna Marie.”

“That’s mah job. Someone’s gotta keep ya in line. Mattie’d want it ta be me.” She socked his shoulder playfully, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

*

 

Dinner was a quiet affair at home. Anna Marie heated up the leftovers from their cancelled get-together, and to Mattie and Remy’s credit, everything was superb. Logan scraped the last drops of jambalaya from his bowl with his spoon before Remy chided him to stop.

“Mec, have some more! C’mon, now!”

“There’s plenty,” Anna Marie encouraged easily, holding out the serving pot with ladle raised.

“Nah. Just gettin’ the last bit, I’m stuffed!”

“Ya sure, Logan? Loosen that belt, and ya can make room for a little more.”

“S’okay, Anna. I’m good. This was amazing.” She beamed.

“Tell yer boy here that. Remy an’ Mattie have always torn it up in the kitchen. Used to be fun back in the day when they’d get Jean-Paul in there, too.” Logan set his bowl down and sat back.

“Did he cook?”

“Non,” Remy confirmed. “Hardly ate anyt’ing, eit’er. Jus’ loved bossin’ ev’rybody around. Dat wuz part of his charm.”

“Mattie came close ta smackin’ him with her spoon a few times. But she enjoyed him. Ya woulda liked him,” Anna Marie told Logan.

“Yeah. Probably would have.” Logan thought about the pictures of the younger man in Remy’s portfolio. He didn’t know much about him, above and beyond the tidbits Remy had shared with him now and again.

“He was such a smartass, not unlike some fellas we know,” Anna Marie said meaningfully. Remy swatted her with a rat-tailed cloth napkin, and she yelped. He was flushed, embarrassed that she was talking about his old love with his current one. “He was really meticulous. Compulsively neat, alphabetized his book, CD and movie collections, never went out the door without every stitch of clothing neat and pressed, even his jeans.”

“That’s nice,” Logan murmured. He got up from the table, feeling awkward suddenly, unsure of why. He stacked his dishes in his hands and carried them into the kitchen.

“Sit tight, ya don’t hafta do dat,” Remy called after him.

“No problem. Just wanna help.”

“Yer company,” Anna Marie argued, standing and gathering dishes and utensils, too. Remy sighed.

“Why don’tcha both siddown,” Remy said peevishly. “Ain’ even had dessert yet. Mattie’d be disappointed if we didn’ do her peach cobbler justice an’ eat it.”

“That’s okay,” Logan called back as he began to fill one side of the sink with hot, soapy water. Remy sighed as he followed them into the kitchen.

“Quit dat,” he murmured as he sidled up to Logan and set the remaining dishes and glasses on the counter. “Relax. Yer my guest, chere. Mattie’d tan my hide if she knew I had ya up in de kitchen doin’ de dishes.”

“Lil’ dishwater won’t kill me.” He managed a smile to reassure him, but Remy read something troubled in his eyes. He grunted under his breath and gave his back a brief clap.

“A’ight.” Remy went to the refrigerator and pulled out the casserole dish with a Lucite lid. “M’gonna put dis out. I’m gonna have some, even if y’all are bashful.”

“Who you callin’ bashful? Ya just wanna hog it all ta yerself, brat!” Anna Marie cried, swatting Remy back with a dish towel. Remy proved her claim false by taking down three small plates from the cupboard. He set the casserole in the microwave and started the timer.

“Ain’ anyt’in’ ya can do about it, eit’er, cher.”

“The hell there ain’t!” Logan ducked out of the way when she snatched the sink’s spray nozzle from his hand while he was rinsing a bowl, and Remy hissed in surprise as she doused him with a warm stream that soaked his tee.

“Shit!” Logan muttered, dropping the dish back into the sink and stepping out of the way.

“Not so fast, bub!” Anna crowed. “Don’t go hidin’ behind him, ya coward!” Remy stuck out his tongue from over Logan’s shoulder as he darted behind him. “Logan’s not gonna protect ya!”

“She’s got ya there,” he admitted.

“He’s fair game, too!” she cried as she hosed both of them down liberally.

From that point, it was pretty much all over…

 

Minutes later, they all sat at the kitchen table on Mattie’s wooden chairs, covering them with dish towels first. Logan’s hair kept dripping, and he blew it back from his forehead periodically as he ate his cobbler.

“It’s chilly in here,” Anna remarked.

“Dat’s cuz yer wet,” Remy said matter-of-factly. Her top was so wet it clung to her; Remy was silently amused to notice she was standing up at attention.

“Get yer mind outta the gutter,” she sniped. Logan snorted; Remy grinned.

“You said it, chere, not me.”

They sat and talked well into the night, long after the cobbler was down to mere crumbs. Throughout their chat, Logan never noticed that he sat closer to Remy, eventually shoulder to shoulder at the table. They elbowed each other occasionally, patting each other or catching each other’s hands to make a point.

Anna watched them thoughtfully. “Peas in a pod,” she murmured, yawning.

“What wuz dat?”

“Nuthin’. Gettin’ late.” She rose and stretched until her joints cracked. 

“Stayin’ here?”

“Nope. Ah’m gonna head back home and set mah alarm so Ah can go straight over tomorrow morning and bring Maddie some more stuff and make sure her things make it ta her room all right.”

“Dat’s fine, chere.”

“I’m gonna turn in, too, kiddo,” Logan confessed.

“Yer desertin’ me too?”

“Ya look tired, Rem.” Logan was torn. His natural inclination was to turn off the kitchen lights, lock up and follow Remy upstairs, but he didn’t want to take that liberty. He also didn’t want to stay out all night and leave Daisy alone; the thought made him feel like an errant parent. Anna made shooing motions at Logan before she headed for her purse.

“Don’t run off on mah account,” she told him cheekily. “Ain’t gonna hurt mah feelin’s none if ya decide ta stay.” Logan flushed to the roots of his hair.

“Uh…”

“C’mon, now. Ah’m a grownup an’ Ah’m used ta a certain amount of bein’ able ta get up in Remy’s face and his business. Ya like him, right?”

“Uh…”

“Yer both grownups!” She swatted Logan and stuck out her tongue at Remy with emphasis. “Look, buddy, don’t let this man slip through yer fingers. Just cuz Ah think he’s a step above toe jam doesn’t mean ya can’t go for it and grab him with both hands.”

“Remy’s ‘bout five steps above toe jam,” he said resentfully, jutting his chin at a stubborn angle. “Get it right, chere.”

“Ya know I was never good at math,” she reminded him. “Five steps. Sheesh.”

“Dat’s more like it.” But he was watching Logan, amused and embarrassed in equal amounts.

“Scram. Ah wanna talk ta yer man. You, you get ta walk me out ta mah car.” She grabbed Logan by the elbow, and he helplessly allowed her to drag him out the door.

Once they were outside, Logan felt a slight chill from the autumn night’s breezes and the hint of dampness left in his clothes. Anna keyed open her car and got into it, talking to Logan from her rolled-down window.

“Awright. Listen up. Be good ta that man.”

“Aye, aye.”

“Ah mean it.”

“I know ya do, darlin’.”

“Ah’m serious as a heart attack.”

“So’m I.” Logan sobered. “Anna, don’t worry. Ya don’t hafta tell me twice.”

“Shoog, Ah’ll yell it from the hilltops. That boy has been through a LOT. He deserves someone who’ll be there through thick an’ thin for him, ya hear? He likes you, Ah can tell. Lights up whenever anyone mentions yer name.” She told him pointedly, “Make sure ya make yer needs clear, and that ya don’t give him mixed messages or walk into this half-assed.”

“That ain’t what I’m about.” He was annoyed, wondering what she was getting at.

“Truth be told, shoog, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure ya were Remy’s type when Ah met ya. Not that ya ain’t fantastic. Just wondered if ya swung the same way.” His cheeks burned.

“Yer awful blunt.”

“Just part of mah charm.”

“If ya wanna call it that.”

“Touche. Ah get it. But Ah’m just sayin’…are ya with Rem because those are yer true feelings, or are ya just tryin’ him on?”

“I don’t play that shit. I’m with Remy because he’s Remy. Period. There ain’t anything ta ‘try on.’ He’s the right one. And he’s the right man. For me.” She nodded. A slow smile spread over her face and she reached out and squeezed his hand.

“That’s what Ah wanna hear.”

“Oh, that was all?” Logan quipped. “If yer done grillin’ me, I think I’m well done by now.”

“Might hafta stick a fork in ya ta make sure. Thanks fer walkin’ me out. G’night, Logan.”

“Night.” He stood out long enough to wave after her as she pulled out of the driveway. He trotted up the front steps and let himself back inside with a low knock. “Remy?”

The kitchen was empty, which puzzled him. Logan suddenly heard the sound of running water and smelled the scent of toothpaste in the hallway when he turned the corner. “Rem?”

“Gimme a sec, cher.” The bathroom light and fan clicked off and Remy joined him shortly. Logan was surprised to already see him dressed in a plain dark tee and flannel pajama bottoms. 

“That was fast.”

“Ya were out dere long enough,” he accused.

“Sorry.”

“Ain’t yer fault. Dat’s jus’ Anna.”

“Yeah, it is,” Logan agreed. Remy chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“Gave ya a once-over?”

“I’ve still got some of my ass left.”

“Looks good t’me.” Remy crooked his finger at him. “C’mere, baby. Give us a lil’ ol’ kiss g’night.” Logan huffed but obliged, closing his beefy, warm hands around Remy’s narrow hips. Remy’s lips were firm and ardent against his, doing their level best to leave him weak in the knees. Logan’s arms coiled around his waist and his palms splayed over his lean, hard back, counting his vertebrae through the thin cotton. Remy moaned into his mouth, sighing in contentment. 

They teased and played for a few minutes, fine with taking their time, lingering over a goodnight that threatened to be no such thing. It was so hard, yet again, to take that next step, or not to yet. Remy still felt Logan holding back, and it drove him batshit.

He knew the reasons why, even though he didn’t want to think about it. 

Logan pulled back, eyeing him. “Ya okay?”

“M’fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yup.” He nibbled the top of Logan’s cheek, then kissed the bridge of his nose. “Kiss Daisy g’night, too.”

“She’s gonna be disappointed that I came home without ya,” Logan mused. Conflict was written on Remy’s fine features. He laid his palm against Logan’s jaw, cradling it and stroking his warm skin with his thumb. He sighed.

“Tell her Remy’ll be over in time for dinner an’ our walk, den. Better yet, bring her tomorrow mornin’.”

“Where?”

“De beach. Dawn. Ain’ no point in givin’ up a good t’ing. Visitin’ hours don’ start til eight. Daisy might like some quality time wit’ her daddy an’ some time outta de house.”

“The ass crack of dawn,” Logan muttered. “Yer lucky I like ya so much.”

“We can have de sun t’ourselves,” Remy reminded him, shrugging.

“I already do,” Logan murmured, leaning in and steaming Remy’s lips, “whether ya get me up early or not.”


End file.
